


Dissolved, Desolate, Dissolute

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Canon Related, Drama, M/M, Season 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rejected by Harvey, Mike is befriended by Stephen Huntley, who asks him to become his associate and move to London.  While Mike mulls this unexpected offer over, they work side by side, and Mike begins to realize that Stephen is after something more than a working relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains spoilers to the first half of Season 3. It loosely follows the plot of the show, although I've altered some specifics to suit the story.

Mike glanced up from the file on his desk to find himself being observed by an unfamiliar man. _Attorney_ , was his first thought. The man wore an expensive grey suit, immaculate white shirt and blue silk tie. _Nice looking_ , was his second thought. Not quite up to Harvey-nice standards, but attractive, and exuding a similar air of alpha dog arrogance.

“You’re Mike Ross,” the man stated in a soft, slightly raspy British accent.

Throwing down his highlighter and watching it roll across his desk, Mike stretched his arms above his head, trying to work some of the kinks out. It took about half a minute, and then he finally let his gaze return to the man who was leaning on the ledge of his workstation. “You’re one of them,” he said. “One of Darby’s people.”

The man straightened up and held out his hand, smiling. “Stephen Huntley.”

Mike’s gaze sharpened and he stood slowly, moving around the short wall of his workstation until he stood outside, next to Huntley, and could look him up and down. Huntley was trim but solidly built, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Mike. “The British Harvey,” Mike said, nodding. Finally, he extended his own hand and felt it grasped in a warm, firm hold. “So,” he said, looking directly into Huntley’s light eyes, but couldn’t think of a single clever thing to add. An image of pale skin dotted with freckles flashed into his mind and he quickly banished it. “So,” he repeated, and let the word trail off into the beginning of a question. Belatedly, he remembered to let go of the other man’s hand.

Huntley crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the half-wall. “So,” he said, smiling, “I’ve heard good things about you, Mike.”

“From Harvey?” Mike hadn’t meant to ask that, hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous and bitter. Harvey remained resolutely angry at him, a fact that had been reinforced for Mike just twenty minutes earlier. Harvey had frozen him out, and it seemed he was destined to remain on the outside. Huntley was evidently too well-mannered to state the facts bluntly, but the faint look of apologetic regret on his face told Mike all he needed to know.

“From Louis Litt, actually. I overheard him asking permission to ‘court’ you, as it were.”

Mike placed his back to the cubicle and eyed Huntley sidewise. “Let me guess. Harvey told Louis he was welcome to have me.”

“You could do worse.” He smiled slyly. “Or better.”

Mike sighed. Part of him wanted to tell this near stranger it was none of his business, but he’d felt so isolated and lonely lately, between the dual rejections of Harvey and Rachel, that it was nice to have someone interested in him, even if only for a casual chat. “I know,” he conceded. “I’ve worked with Louis before, and it was pretty great, actually. It’s just….”

“Not the same,” Huntley finished for him, as if he understood completely.

Shrugging, Mike pushed off from the wall and made as if to return to his seat. Huntley lay a hand on his arm, halting him. A little zing of interest shot through Mike at the brief contact, taking him by surprise.

“Perhaps there’s another option for you,” Huntley murmured. Mike started to shake his head, but Huntley stopped him with a finger to Mike’s lips, there and then gone almost immediately, but leaving behind a lingering sensation that made it difficult to concentrate on Huntley’s next words. “Why don’t we talk about this tonight, over dinner?”

Mike licked his lips and then blushed, realizing how that must look. “Uh,” was the only response he could manage.

“All I’m suggesting is dinner, Mike. We’ll get to know one another a little better. After all, you will undoubtedly find yourself working with me from time to time, regardless of the outcome of our discussion.”

Mike had some idea what the discussion would entail, but decided that dinner with this attractive man sounded like a nice idea, and he could wait a couple of hours to find out precisely what Huntley wanted from him. “Sure. All right. Seven o’clock?”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Huntley give him a smile and half nod and disappeared back down the hall towards whatever it was that kept him busy.

 

It didn’t surprise Mike to discover that, like Harvey, Stephen Huntley employed the services of a car and driver to ferry him around town. He relaxed in the back of a 2014 Rolls Royce Phantom, watching the city pass by. Next to him, Stephen remained quiet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Minutes later, the car pulled up in front of the restaurant, and Mike followed the other man inside.

Once they’d ordered and each had a beer in front of him, Stephen leaned towards Mike. “I want to give you a tryout.”

Mike coughed lightly to clear his suddenly dry throat, and took a quick gulp of beer. He laughed nervously. “Why, Mr. Huntley, this is so sudden.”

Stephen smirked at him. “I’m serious, Mike. If I thought you’d agree, I’d ask you to put in a request for a transfer to London right now. I need an associate, and everything I’ve heard about you makes me believe that you are the best choice. The only choice, really.”

Mike didn’t respond right away, taking a few moments to digest what Stephen had just said. Move to London? There was a certain attraction to the idea of picking up and starting over somewhere new, and he’d always wanted to travel. Still, would this open his credentials up for unwanted scrutiny? And then there was the question of Harvey. He’d told Mike several times, in the harshest of terms, that they were done. Mike had been stubbornly holding onto hope, however faint, that he could still fix things between them.

He took a long swig of beer, wishing he had ordered something stronger. Suddenly, he was tired of the fight, tired of beating his head against the obstinate brick wall that was Harvey Specter. Harvey didn’t even want to look at him, much less work with him, but evidently Stephen did.

“Are you working on anything right now?” he asked Stephen. “In New York?”

Stephen eyed him closely, face giving nothing away. “Here’s the thing, Mike. It’s not that Edward doesn’t trust Harvey and Jessica, he simply doesn’t know them as well as he knows me. The Hessington Oil case is personal for him. Ava Hessington is like family. My role is simply to stay close, keep an eye on how things are proceeding, and lend a hand if it ever seems necessary.”

Mike laughed without humor. “That’s not going to go over well. I can guarantee you that you’re going to piss off Harvey and Jessica, and those are not two people that you want to have pissed off at you.” If anyone could vouch for that, it was him. He finished his beer, tipping back his head to get the last few drops. “I’d agree to help you with any other case, but not this one. I’m not a fan of deliberately throwing myself in front of a buzz saw.” Not anymore, anyway.

Maintaining his genial appearance, Stephen signaled the waiter for two more beers. “I understand your reluctance, but I can assure you that your involvement would be entirely invisible. We’re going to research and prep as if we were handling the case. From what I’ve heard, your eye for detail is unsurpassed, as is your knack for applying the law in unique and unexpected ways. If Harvey and his team miss anything, you and I will find it.”

It didn’t escape his notice that Stephen was already talking as if Mike had agreed to work with him. Part of Mike knew that Stephen was using flattery to make his case, but after the cold shoulder Harvey had been throwing him, Stephen’s praise felt like warmth and sunshine and champagne bubbles. It was an effort not to grin stupidly and agree to everything Stephen wanted. “And if Harvey performs brilliantly, as usual, and wins the case on his own?”

“Well then,” said Stephen, smiling widely, “he’ll never have to know about this conversation or the reason behind our collaboration.”

Mike wasn’t so sure about that. At times, Harvey seemed frighteningly omniscient.

Their food arrived, and as the waiter fussed over them, Mike sat back and considered what Stephen was offering. At one time, he might have believed that he could earn Harvey’s respect and appreciation by finding the elusive piece of evidence or information that could win his case. The way things stood now, he suspected that any help he provided would be resented and rejected outright. Perhaps his grief over their broken friendship had shifted to the anger stage, because the thought of forcing Harvey to take his help – of shoving it in his smug face and making him eat it – overrode any caution he should have felt over allying himself with someone he’d only met that afternoon.

They set aside their conversation while they enjoyed their meal, but it remained at the forefront of Mike’s thoughts. As he set down his knife and fork, swallowed the last bit of prime rib, and polished off his third beer, he came to a decision.

He leaned forward and asked, “Am I correct in assuming that working with you on Hessington Oil would be my tryout for possibly becoming your associate?”

Stephen leaned in, mirroring his pose, one hand moving restlessly over the tabletop, as if he wanted to touch Mike, but held himself back. Mike, in his sated, mellow state, found himself wishing that he would touch him.

“Yeah, Mike. That’s the intention. You’re considering it, then?”

_A fresh start in London_. Despite the risk involved, hell yes, he was considering it. Maintaining a neutral expression, he shrugged. “I’ll do it. But fair warning: this is a tryout for you as well.”

Stephen grinned. “Of course. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t a bit cautious.”

“And we’ll need a cover story. Something to tell people, to explain why I’m working with you.”

“I have half a dozen other cases here in New York. None are anywhere near as urgent as the Hessington matter, but I’ll provide you with copies of the files for…window dressing.”

“And when Louis inevitably tries to pull me away?”

Stephen leaned closer, and this time he did let his fingers touch the back of Mike’s hand, circling slowly, and causing Mike to bite the inside of his cheek so that he wouldn’t shiver at the light caress. “If Louis gives you any trouble, mention my name. Better yet, let me know, and I’ll take care of him.”

Some dark undercurrent to Stephen’s words sent a momentary chill down Mike’s spine, but the other man’s expression remained amiable, so Mike brushed off the feeling and gave him a bright smile. “Better you than me. Just…if he mentions anything about mud, run away as fast as you can.”

Stephen tipped his head back and laughed delightedly. “Thanks for the warning, mate. Louis reminds me of our Nigel. I don’t think he’ll give me any trouble.”

But it wasn’t Louis that Mike was worried about.  

 

Either Louis had not been as interested in Mike as he’d believed him to be, or Stephen had taken proactive steps to warn him off. Whichever was true, Mike’s first week working for Stephen remained drama free.

Mike claimed a work room on one of the firm’s lower floors, and pored through old e-mails and memos, papers and rulings on international mining law, Hessington Oil corporate documents, hotel and airfare billings for officers and government officials, and anything else Stephen brought him. Sometimes when he grew tired and punch drunk, he allowed himself to wonder how Harvey’s prep was going. Mike had heard that Dana Scott – Scottie – was cozily ensconced in Harvey’s office, and that he’d recruited the services of Rachel as well.

He tried to convince himself that it didn’t hurt to be isolated like this, ostracized and banished here in what sometimes felt like the dungeon of Pearson Darby – even if it was on the thirty-fourth floor. If not for Stephen’s many appearances and kindnesses, he might have given into an extended, self-indulgent wallow in self-pity. Every time he hit a low point, Stephen would show up, bringing energy drinks and sandwiches and his kind, solicitous manner, asking for details of anything new that Mike might have turned up. As the week wore on, Stephen also took time to flirt with Mike, which was the sweetest balm of all.

On Friday, he surprised Mike by striding into the work room at five o’clock in a pair of jeans and a nice blue v-neck sweater.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Mike laughed in disbelief. “You realize we’re not on London time, right?” He’d had every intention of working through the night, maybe catching a few cat naps under the work table. It wasn’t like he had anything going on in his life besides work.

Stephen rested his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “I’ve got two tickets to a rugby match, and I want you to go with me. Columbia versus Cornell.”

Mike had to stifle another laugh. “Rugby? I know more about fucking quidditch than I do rugby.”

“It’s great. I’ll teach you.” He squeezed Mike’s shoulder.

“I’m not dressed – ”

“We’ll swing by your place.”

“In Friday rush hour traffic? We’ll never make it in time.”

Stephen took hold of both his upper arms. “My driver’s a genius at finding a way through snarled traffic. And if we’re a little late, so what? Come on, Mike. Any more excuses? And don’t even mention the Hessington Oil case or I’ll be forced to drag you out of here by your ankle.”

Mike choked on a laugh at that image. “Okay. I give up. Whatever you want.”

“Just what I like to hear.”

Stephen let him go, but Mike swore he could still feel his hands on him as he trailed him to the elevator. He was anticipating the night ahead, allowing himself to think, _what if,_ and _maybe_ , and so he was caught off guard when the elevator doors opened to reveal Harvey and Scottie occupying one corner, with little room between them.

Stephen greeted them both smoothly and entered the elevator, leaving Mike frozen and gaping like an idiot. It crossed his mind to make some excuse to Stephen, to pretend he had forgotten something at his desk, but he caught sight of Harvey’s scornful, closed off expression, and that made him angry enough to move forward to stand side by side with Stephen. The elevator doors slid shut.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones who decided to get a jump on the weekend,” said Stephen.

A heavy silence followed his words and Mike willed the elevator to descend faster. As they passed the twentieth floor, Scottie spoke. “Harvey and I were just on our way grab an early dinner. You’re welcome to join us.”

Judging by the dark look of surprise that Harvey directed her way, he did not share her spirit of welcome. Mike was spared from having to reply – as was Harvey – when Stephen said, “Mike and I have plans. Perhaps another time?”

Scottie’s eyes glinted with malice. “Absolutely.” Her gaze shifted to Mike. “Where have you been hiding, Mike?” she asked. “What case is it, exactly, that has both you and Stephen so busy?”

“Scottie,” Harvey murmured, looking uncomfortable.

“What?” she challenged him. “I’m not allowed to have an interest in what cases other members of the firm are working on? I mean, for some reason I run into Stephen damn near every time I turn around. He’s burrowed in here like a tick, and I can’t help but wonder why that is.”

Stephen gave her a charming smile. “Don’t be jealous, darling. If you trail after Harvey long enough and don’t trip over your own dainty little feet, perhaps one day Edward will trust you the way he trusts me.”

Mike knew his eyes had widened, and he had just enough time to wish he had a large bucket of popcorn he could munch on while Scottie and Stephen traded barbs, when the elevator dinged, and the door opened to reveal that they had arrived at the lobby. Stephen touched his back, so Mike led the way off the elevator and out of the building. With an effort of will, he didn’t look back, but he could almost feel the weight of Harvey’s gaze on him.

 

The rugby game – match, whatever – was fun, although Mike didn’t understand most of it, and Columbia, his supposed alma mater, lost horribly. Stephen kept him supplied with overpriced beer and amusing asides about the players and the fans. Mike couldn’t remember when he’d laughed so much, and it felt good.

So when they were back in the car and Stephen turned to smile at him, eyes crinkling attractively at the corners, and asked, “Will you come back to my hotel for a drink?,” Mike smiled back and nodded, and didn’t flinch when Stephen touched the side of his face and leaned in for a kiss. His lips were firm and smooth, moving over Mike’s with a seductive confidence. Mike parted his lips and their tongues stroked together briefly, before Stephen pulled back. His eyes sparkled with the promise of more to come, and his hand caressed Mike’s leg, as if he already possessed the right to touch him like that.

Mike wasn’t complaining. He was prepared to be seduced, and Stephen seemed to have some skill in that area. When Stephen slid an arm around his shoulder, Mike hesitated for only half a second before scooting closer and resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. A brief, unwelcome image of Harvey’s face popped into his head, but he forced it away and made himself relax and watch the city light’s pass by.

It wasn’t long until the driver stopped in front of the Ritz-Carlton and let them out. They entered the lobby and rode the elevator up to Stephen’s room – or suite, as it turned out, which overlooked Central Park. When Mike got a look at the impeccable furnishings of the place Stephen temporarily called home, he gave an appreciative whistle.

“Edward was never one to skimp on his favorite employees,” said Stephen. “Part of the reason Scottie was so out of sorts tonight is that she was bumped from this suite and relegated to an ordinary room on one of the lower floors.”

“Isn’t she staying with Harvey?” Mike asked, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He shouldn’t care. He _didn’t_ care.

Stephen shrugged, dismissing the topic with, “Who knows with that one?” He had taken off his jacket, and helped Mike out of his, tossing both over one of the armchairs in the suite’s spacious living room. He moved to what looked like a fully stocked bar, and gave Mike a questioning look.

“Oh. Okay. I guess I’ll have whatever fancy, top shelf vodka you’ve got there, with a little tonic.”

“Coming right up.”

While Stephen busied himself preparing their drinks, Mike wandered around the room, trying to get a handle on his sudden case of nerves. He’d been with plenty of guys, had more casual hook-ups than he cared to remember, but this, with Stephen, seemed so… _civilized_ …cold-blooded, even. He felt a little like a Bond Girl, about to be seduced, _sans_ tuxedo, by the master spy himself.

“What are you smiling at?” Stephen asked him, handing him his drink. Stephen’s glass – a tumbler and not a martini glass, Mike noted – contained what looked like scotch or bourbon.

“What? Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I’m just having a good time tonight.”

Stephen sat on the loveseat and eyed Mike over the top of his glass. “You sound surprised. What were you expecting, then? A miserable time?”

Mike took a long swallow of his drink. “Ah, no. I wasn’t expecting anything. To be honest, before you showed up in my work room, I was expecting to pull an all-nighter, and spend most of the weekend at the office.”

Stephen gave an exaggerated grimace. “That doesn’t sound fun at all.”

Mike looked at the seat next to Stephen, hesitated, and then sat down, turning his body to face Stephen. “What can I say? My new boss piles on the work, and expects instant results.”

Smirking back at Mike, Stephen set his drink on the glass side table and leaned in for a kiss, one hand resting on the side of Mike’s neck. He pulled back, staring at Mike’s mouth. “He sounds pretty strict, this boss of yours.”

After another long pull on his drink – for courage – Mike set it aside as well. “That’s the thing. He is strict, but I like that. I find that I want to please him.” Ha. He could do a little seducing of his own.

“Do you?” Stephen’s voice was amused and breathless. “And what do you think would please him?”

Instead of answering, Mike slid to the floor on his knees, arranging himself directly in front of Stephen. He met no resistance when he pulled the other man’s knees apart and scooted even closer. Maintaining eye contact, he unbuttoned Stephen’s jeans and dragged the zipper down, separated the two sides, and palmed Stephen’s cock through the thin cotton of his briefs, gratified to find him with the beginnings of a promising erection. He lowered his head and licked up his cotton-outlined length. When he reached the head, he lowered the band and licked the slit, fucking into it with the tip of his tongue.

“Holy Christ,” Stephen growled, grabbing the back of Mike’s head and threading his fingers through his hair. He thrust upwards, and Mike helpfully peeled Stephen’s jeans and briefs down to his thighs. He enveloped as much of the long, thick cock with his throat as he could manage, applying gentle suction, and swiping his tongue up the underside. After perhaps a minute of this treatment, he lifted his head and removed his mouth with a moist pop.

“So,” he asked, “does it?”

Stephen gave him back a blank look.

“Please you,” Mike clarified. “Does it please you?”

Stephen laughed huskily. “You’re joking, right? For fuck’s sake, Mike, keep going. You’re amazing.”

Stephen’s praise warmed him all the way through, so he happily lowered his mouth once more and deep-throated Stephen, using one hand to play with his balls while his throat and tongue coaxed sounds out of Stephen that had Mike hard and leaking. He slurped his way up, held the tip in his mouth, licked just underneath the mushroom shaped head and dragged his tongue down the underside. The feel of Stephen’s strong hands kneading the back of his head were driving him crazy, but he wanted more.

He pulled off just long enough to gasp, “Fuck my face,” before swallowing Stephen to the root. He had to back up and back off slightly when Stephen stood up to oblige him. Mike knelt beneath him, head tipped back, mouth open, accepting Stephen’s forceful thrusts, loving the way they battered the back of his throat.

“Jack yourself off,” Stephen panted. “Get your dick out and make yourself come.”

Mike fumbled with his jeans and managed to pull them down far enough to release his cock.

Stephen paused in his thrusts to watch Mike. “So pretty,” he breathed. “I knew you’d be pretty like this.” He pulled out, tugged Mike’s t-shirt off, and shoved his cock back into Mike’s mouth, moving more vigorously than before. His hands cradled the back of Mike’s head, keeping him in position.

Mike was so turned on that it took only half a dozen wild strokes before he was coming into his hand. Seconds later, Stephen tensed and froze, but instead of coming in Mike’s mouth, he pulled out to paint stripes across Mike’s face and down his chest.

“There you go,” Stephen said, smiling down at Mike in what looked like triumph. “I’ll bet Harvey’s never seen you looking like this.

Something cold spiked through Mike at that unexpected comment, ruining his pleasant, orgasmic haze. Unsure what to say, he could only stare up at Stephen, chest heaving.

Stephen petted his head, ran a finger through the mess on Mike’s face and held it to his lips. After a brief hesitation, Mike parted his lips and sucked on Stephen’s finger, eyes lowered.

“So pretty,” Stephen repeated. “And so mine. You’ll stay the night, won’t you?”

“Ah…okay. Sure,” Mike agreed, even though there was a part of him that wanted to go home and hide, the same part that was flashing warning signals about how he had just damaged his working relationship with Stephen. Because what, exactly, had Stephen meant with that comment about Harvey?

But he took the hand Stephen offered, stood up, and followed him to the lavish marble bathroom to get cleaned up. Stephen insisted on showering together. He stood behind Mike with his chest plastered against his back and ran soapy hands over every inch of him, and into every crevice. By the time he finished drying Mike off with one of the absurdly fluffy hotel towels, Mike was feeling relaxed again, and more than ready to see where the night might lead.

The bedroom was just as lovely as the rest of the suite. The king size bed looked like a plush cloud of snowy white cotton, and when Stephen pushed Mike down onto it, it felt as if he sank several inches. “Get in the middle,” Stephen instructed, “on your back.” When Mike was where he wanted, Stephen straddled his hips and grabbed Mike’s wrists, holding them together above his head. “You’d do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?” he asked almost conversationally.

Mike didn’t have a ready answer for that, so he stared up at Stephen with an enigmatic smile and forced himself to relax back against the pillows. Absently, he noted to himself that he’d been right about Stephen’s pale skin being sprinkled with freckles. He wanted to lick them to see how they tasted.

“What if I wanted to spank your pretty little ass?”

“Uh.” Mike gave him an uncertain look. “Is that what you want to do?”

“Maybe. Among other things. Would you let me play with you a little?”

“Play with me?” Mike might have laughed, but his mouth had gone dry.

“You have such a delicious body, practically begging for the right touch to set all your nerves screaming.”

“Er, screaming?”

Stephen smiled gently down at him. “You trust me, don’t you, Mike?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Mike wanted to say yes, but this wasn’t exactly how he had pictured things progressing when he’d agreed to accompany Stephen here. But he liked Stephen, and couldn’t deny that he found him exciting. He’d enjoyed the evening so far. Why shouldn’t he trust him?

“Of course,” he finally said, and was rewarded by the pleased approval that flashed in Stephen’s eyes.

“That’s good, Mike. I promise you won’t be sorry.” He let go of Mike, slid off of him and stood up. “Let me just grab a few things. You stay right there.”

He went to the closet, where Mike could see him rummaging around in a suitcase. He returned to the bed and set some items by Mike’s hip: a pair of leather cuffs, a coil of rope, a black dildo, a blindfold, and a leather paddle. Mike felt his eyes go wide at the display.

Stephen sat on the bed and stroked Mike’s arm soothingly. “What do you think? You’re not frightened? You’re not going to run away now, are you?”

“This is…I’ve never….”

“Then let me introduce you. It would be my pleasure. I have a hunch about you, Mike. You’re not scared of trying new things are you?”

Stephen seemed determined to goad and challenge him. Mike admitted to himself that, yes, he’d always been curious about these sorts of toys. He’d been spanked before, once or twice, but that was as far as it ever went. He knew better than to allow a stranger to tie him up, but he come to know Stephen during the past week, and felt like he could trust him. He scoffed internally. _What do you think he’s going to do? Kill and dismember you right in the middle of the Pearson Darby suite?_

Mike managed a half-smile. “Let’s do this.”

Stephen rewarded him with a bright smile and a quick kiss. “Lay on your stomach for me. Now relax.” Stephen massaged his shoulders, digging his thumbs in to work out the knots of tension. “I’ve got a lot of work to do on you. Don’t worry. By the time you leave here, you’re going to be as loose and wobbly as a noodle.”

Mike grunted, not sure how appealing that image was, but he didn’t voice a protest.

When Stephen deemed him relaxed enough, he slipped the blindfold over Mike’s head, adjusting it with care. “Your only job from this point forward is just to do whatever I tell you, and to feel. Do you think you can manage that?”

Mike nodded.

“Out loud, please. And while you can still speak, I’d like you to address me as ‘sir.’ Can you do that?”

“Yes. Sir. Yes, sir.” It didn’t sound right, didn’t feel right, but he’d decided to give this a try, so he was determined to give it a fair chance, and do as Stephen asked.

“Put your hands behind your back. Good.”

Mike felt the leather cuffs go on his wrists, which were clipped together at the small of his back. He breathed faster, growing excited.

“Next, I’m going to tie your ankles to the bed frame. If I get the rope too tight, or anything doesn’t feel right, please let me know.”

Mike waited, and then remembered to say, “Yes, sir,” in acknowledgement.

Soft rope was knotted around each ankle and then his legs were stretched wide as Stephen tied each one off to the corners of the bed.

“How does that feel, Mike?”

He had to swallow before he could answer. “It’s fine, sir. Feels good.”

“All right. Take hold of this.”

Mike felt something round and hard placed in his right palm and he closed his hand around it. “What is that? Sir.”

“That is a rubber ball. You’re to hold onto it. Once I gag you, which I’m about to do, you may use the ball to communicate your need to stop, if you feel you can’t continue. Simply let go and allow it to drop.”

“Oh. Like a safe word.”

“Exactly. Now, what you’re going to feel in your mouth is my belt. It’s a personal preference of mine. I believe it looks so much prettier than a ball gag. Open wide.”

Mike’s heart was beating so hard in his chest, he almost expected the bed to shake from it. He swallowed what saliva had gathered in his mouth and opened up as ordered. The belt Stephen used was perhaps an inch wide, maybe a little more. Before Mike had a chance to bite down, the belt wrapped twice around his head so he had two layers of it holding his mouth just wide enough to make it uncomfortable. He felt Stephen secure the belt at the back of his head, cinching it tight so there wasn’t any slack.

Behind him, Stephen gave a low chuckle. “I wish you could see yourself. Absolutely beautiful. Nod once if you’re prepared to proceed.”

Mike nodded, testing the bonds at his wrists and ankles.

“That’s great, Mike.” One hand cupped Mike’s bottom. “I’m going to loosen you up inside.”

Before Mike could grunt his understanding, a cold, wet finger breached his tight hole. He gasped against the belt. He couldn’t wriggle away, could barely move as Stephen invaded him, fucking his finger in and out and then, with no warning, pushing two fingers in. Mike panted harshly, grinding his face against the bed.

“That’s it, darling,” Stephen murmured. “Take it, my pretty little boy.” His fingers moved mercilessly inside Mike, showing no gentleness. He brushed over Mike’s prostate, and Mike moaned into his gag. “You like that? Found your happy spot, have I?” He massaged the spot over and over, until Mike lifted his ass as much as was possible, keening nonstop.

“Look at you. Begging for more. I think you’re ready for our little friend now.” He withdrew his fingers and seconds later, something hard and cold prodded Mike’s entrance. The dildo, he realized, just before Stephen shoved it deep inside of him. He froze, biting down hard on the leather in his mouth. He felt tears trickle from the corners of his eyes. Stephen laughed with delight. “That got your attention, eh?” He fucked the dildo in and out of Mike, varying the pace and angle. Mike could hear himself, and was dimly shocked by the noises that leaked past his gag, sighs and groans and squeaks and high-pitched whines.

After torturing him like this for long minutes, Stephen pushed the dildo deep into his guts, almost impossibly deep. Sweat dampened Mike’s back and thighs, and ran down his face. With sight cut off, he seemed for a time to float, disembodied. Then Stephen grabbed him underneath his hips and pulled back so that he was kneeling with his shoulders and face against the bed. He waited for Stephen to tell him what was coming next, but evidently the play-by-play commentary had ended. The dildo intruded, alien and unyielding. He gripped the rubber ball in his hand more tightly, trying to anchor himself to something solid and real.

With no warning except for a quiet swish of air, the paddle struck his ass. If the leather belt hadn’t been in his mouth, he might have bit his tongue. He gave a loud squeak. The paddle struck again, and continued, raining blows on his ass again and again, covering every inch of his vulnerable flesh. It fucking _hurt,_ and he yelled and grunted and howled as much as the gag allowed. Even as pain rained down on him, the dildo shifted inside of him with each smack, rubbing up against his prostate so that insane pleasure mixed with the pain, scrambling his senses. He started to float once more in the darkness, and it no longer felt as if the pain was connected to him, it was only happening somewhere in the same room, to some nameless lump of flesh. He collapsed, falling flat on the bed once more, drool dampening his chin.

He flinched when the dildo was pulled out of him. Then Stephen’s slick, condom-sheathed cock slid into him and a different rhythm rocked him. Stephen wrapped one arm under his hips, used his other hand to clutch Mike’s shoulder, and rode him with smooth, even strokes. “How’s that feel, Mike?” he murmured. He smacked Mike’s flaming ass and chuckled when Mike ground down into the bed, whining as he failed to find any friction in the soft, fluffy comforter. “You look and feel absolutely gorgeous. I’d keep you like this for hours, if I could, helpless and impaled on my cock.” He slapped Mike a few more times, and then reached under him to tweak and play with his nipples.

Mike arched back, moving with Stephen within the small range of motion his bonds allowed. His shoulders ached, his thigh muscles were feeling strained, his ass throbbed, and it all felt amazing and overwhelming. Stephen’s thrusts sped up and Mike growled, loud and harsh and needy. He felt his balls tighten, and a familiar heat began in his lower belly.

Seemingly aware that Mike was on the edge, Stephen leaned over his back and bit down hard on his shoulder, before ordering, voice breathless, “Come for me.” Evidently, this is what his body was waiting for, and Mike threw his head back and erupted, screaming into the spit-damp leather of his gag, eyes clenched shut behind the blindfold. He was only distantly aware of Stephen continuing to pound into him, cursing savagely, but Mike was done, wrung out and boneless, and could no longer participate, could only let Stephen take him, shaking him with his powerful thrusts, plundering Mike’s unresisting body for his pleasure, like a triumphant conqueror enjoying his well-earned spoils of war.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks the comments and kudos for chapter 1! Please to enjoy chapter 2.

A phone trilled with an unfamiliar ringtone. Mike groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. Through its thick, billowy softness, he heard Stephen’s voice, and only then remembered where he was. He retained a vague impression of being untied, ungagged, blindfold removed, of Stephen prying the rubber ball from his stiff, aching fist, of being carefully cleaned before soothing lotion was rubbed on his burning ass.

As he listened disinterestedly to Stephen’s side of the phone call, his mind shied away from recalling all the details of the night. Had that really been him, Mike Ross, behaving so wantonly? It was as if Stephen had turned the lock on some hidden place inside him, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to slam it shut again, or throw it wide open to explore in greater detail.

“I understand,” Stephen was saying into the phone. “Yes. You’re right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Mike heard him end the call. The pillow was dragged from his head and Stephen dug a hand into Mike’s hair, lightly kneading his scalp. “Mike,” he whispered, breath drifting over Mike’s ear.

Cracking one eye open, Mike looked over his shoulder. “Hi,” he croaked.

Stephen dropped a kiss on the top of Mike’s head. “I’m sorry, darling, but I have to leave. There’s an emergency back in London, and Edward needs me there right away.”

Mike started to turn over, remembered his tender bottom, and settled onto his side, where he could watch Stephen as he stood up and got dressed, pulling on underwear, grey dress pants and a white button down shirt. He grabbed a small suitcase from the closet, set it on top of the bed, and began packing.

“What time is it?” Mike rubbed a knuckle over one eye and yawned.

“Almost two thirty. You’re welcome to stay. Sleep as late as you like, and charge your breakfast to the room.” He disappeared into the bathroom for a few seconds and reemerged with his shaving kit, which went into the suitcase.

“What kind of emergency?” Mike asked, rolling back onto his stomach and bunching the pillow under his head.

Stephen zipped the suitcase closed and set it on the floor. “Nothing that concerns you. I should be back Monday or Tuesday. While I’m gone, I want you to go through the expense reports I left you. If you find anything useful, text me right away.” He sat next to Mike and kissed him, slow and thorough, and then dragged the sheet off of him and gave his butt a sharp smack, chuckling at Mike’s yelp of pain. “You were amazing tonight, Mike. I hope we can do this again soon.” He kissed Mike again, barely a peck. “God,” he murmured, pulling away, mischief sparkling in his eyes, “the things I could do to you.”

Mike was left with that intriguing tease, as Stephen grabbed his cell phone, coat, and suitcase, and swept out of the room. Seconds later, Mike heard the door to the suite click shut. He tried to settle back into sleep, but Stephen’s slap had reawakened the throbbing in his ass, and he couldn’t get comfortable. Finally, judging the room warm enough, he yanked the sheet all the way off and lay on top of the covers, facedown. He eyed the special lotion Stephen had thoughtfully left on the nightstand, but couldn’t summon the energy to reach for it and attempt to apply it to himself. He shifted and squirmed, disturbed for a time by the unfamiliar sounds of the hotel, and eventually dropped into a restless sleep.

 

“ _Bloody hell_.”

The annoyed British voice floated across the room from somewhere behind Mike, invading his dreams. He clawed his way up from sleep, groggy and stiff, and looked blearily over his shoulder. What he saw made him grab for the sheet to cover himself, and twist around into a seated position, ignoring the flaring pain in his bottom. Edward Darby himself stood in the doorway to the bedroom, grey wool overcoat still on, a suitcase next to him, and a look of annoyance on his face.

“I-I’m sorry,” Mike stuttered. “Stephen said it was all right if I stuck around.” He hurriedly wrapped the sheet around himself and scooted toward the edge of the bed. “He couldn’t stay. He had to fly to…to….” He froze, his mouth falling open as he remembered who Stephen had claimed his was flying to see.

Darby clicked his tongue. “Don’t worry. I don’t blame you. From the look of, er, _things_ , Stephen had quite a go at you last night. I will have to ask you to leave now, though. Were you paid everything you’re owed?” Mike stared at him blankly, and Darby sighed loudly and reached into his pocket for his wallet. “How much?”

Finally it sank in who – or what – Darby thought he was. He felt himself blushing, and stood up, holding the sheet around himself like a toga. “No. You don’t understand. I’m not a….Look, let me introduce myself.”

Darby crossed his arms over his broad chest, tilting his head to one side. “Please, let’s not drag this out. I had a long flight, and I don’t feel inclined at the moment to deal with one of Stephen’s discarded rent boys, adorable as you appear to be. If you’ve been adequately reimbursed for your services, please collect your things and get out.” He turned on his heel to leave the room.

Determined to clear up the confusion, Mike attempted to follow Darby, but his feet tangled in the bottom of the sheet and he fell back onto the bed, right on his ass. Pain shot through him. “Fuck!” The word burst out of him, louder than he intended. Wincing, he rolled over on his belly and crawled back onto the bed, leaving the sheet crumpled on the floor.

A _tsk’ing_ sound came from right behind him, and then the bed dipped as Darby sat near his hip. Mortified, Mike scrabbled for something – comforter, pillow, anything – with which to cover himself, but Darby grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and held it against the mattress.

“Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?” he asked Mike with a detached sort of compassion, nodding towards Mike’s ass. “I used to have mornings like this. It’s been a while, but I still remember the burn, and the deep ache which seemed like it would never leave.”

The last thing Mike wanted was to be discussing his recently spanked ass with Edward Darby – who apparently still thought he was a hooker. “I need to explain – ”

“Ah, ah. No judgment here. In fact, I can help you with that, if you like.” He held up the cream Stephen had left on the nightstand.

Mike groaned, wanting to hide his face under a pillow, or maybe sink through the mattress into the floor, and disappear. “Mr. Darby,” he said clearly, ignoring the blush which was undoubtedly staining his cheeks and chest, “my name is Mike Ross. I work at your law firm, with Stephen. _For_ Stephen. I know how inappropriate this is, for me to be here in his hotel room, with…with….”

“With his handprints still on your bottom?”

“Yes. That. Well, it was a paddle, actually. But – not relevant. Mr. Darby, I can only apologize, and hope this won’t…that you won’t…ah, crap. This is bad, isn’t it?”

Dead silence met his question, but then to Mike’s surprise, Darby burst out laughing. When he regained control, he said, “It might be, if I were as uptight as some of you Americans seem to be. To be honest, the only thing that upsets me is that Stephen left you here alone, in this condition. I thought I’d trained him better than that.”

“You – what now? You trained him? In…?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. Stephen and I are quite close. Since you’ve been working for him, I would have assumed you knew.”

“No, he never mentioned it. I hope I haven’t…that we didn’t….”

“Good lord, boy, I certainly hope you’re more coherent at work than you are right now. Let me put your mind at rest. Stephen and I were never lovers. We have certain tastes that intersect, that’s all.”

Looking over his shoulder, Mike saw Darby uncap the tube of lotion. “Oh, hey. No. That isn’t necessary. I’m good.”

Darby smiled, and suddenly Mike caught a glimpse of the handsome young man he must have once been. “I’m sure you’re very good, Mike. Prove it by holding still while I make you feel better.”

Any more objections Mike had were cut off when Darby’s broad, smooth palm made contact with his ass. The lotion felt like heaven going on. Darby worked with a gentle, impersonal efficiency, reaching every raw, aching spot. Mike hadn’t thought he could be embarrassed any further, but when his dick began to harden beneath him, he had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from making any betraying sounds.

Finally, Darby finished and set the cream back on the nightstand. “There you are,” he said. “Feels better, doesn’t it?”

Mike nodded and glanced over his shoulder. “It does. Thank you, Mr. Darby.”

Another sweet smile from the older man. “Oh, I think you can call me Edward. We’re a bit past formalities at this point.”

Mike found himself smiling back. “All right. Edward. And if we could never speak of this again….”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Wondering how true that was, Mike said, “I should get dressed and get out of here.”

Edward laid his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Now that my mind’s been set at ease that you’re one of mine, and not some stray, you’re more than welcome to rest a while longer.”

“You probably want your room….”

The older man shook his head, his smile growing indulgent. “I always take the larger bedroom.” He pointed back towards the living room and Mike realized that the suite must be even bigger than he’d first thought. “I’m going to order some breakfast. Take your time, get dressed – or not, your choice – then come out and we’ll eat. I would also like to talk to you some more.”

As much as he wanted to just get out and run for home, Mike could hardly argue with Edward Darby. So he nodded his agreement and was glad when Edward finally stood up and left the room, so he could get his inappropriately interested dick under control.

 

Edward nibbled at the corner of a piece of wheat toast. He sipped his tea, swallowed, and gave Mike another searching appraisal. Mike tried not to blush, but doubted his success.

“Try the eggs Provencal, they’re really very good.”

Mike added the suggested dish to his plate, joining toast and hash browns and a second plate holding pancakes, bacon, butter and maple syrup. His stomach recoiled at the sight of all that food, but he managed a small bite of the eggs Provencal, which, as Edward had said, were good.

When Mike’s mouth was full, Edward asked, “Where was it you said Stephen flew off to?”

Mike choked, and coughed harshly to clear his throat. He took a swig of too hot coffee, coughed again, and finally looked over at Edward, who stared back with an expression of infinite patience. “He may have mentioned something about London.”

Edward arched one eyebrow. “Really. How odd. Did he say why?”

_To meet you, because you called him, except you didn’t._

Mike shrugged, gaze sliding away and out the window to the noisy downpour soaking the bare trees below them in Central Park. “He said there was an emergency that needed his attention.”

“How extraordinary.”

Edward didn’t say anything more on the subject, but Mike could almost see the wheels and gears churning in his mind. For the rest of the meal, they chatted idly on a variety of subjects, including Mike’s assessment of the progress in the Hessington Oil case.

“I assume you’re familiar with the name Colonel Moriga?” Edward asked.

“Sure. He’s one of the minor players in the government. Stephen said not to bother spending much time on him.”

Edward paused with a spoonful of fruit halfway to his mouth. “Did he?”

Mike set down his knife and fork and used his cloth napkin to wipe his mouth. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.”

“Should I look more closely at him?”

For the briefest of moments, Edward appeared alarmed, but then his features smoothed over once more. “No. Just a random thought. You should do whatever Stephen tells you to do.”

“Of course,” Mike murmured. He pushed his chair back, picked up his coffee cup, and strolled over to the window. “It’s really pouring out there.” There was no reply behind him, so he turned around to find Edward staring at him with a sharpness to his gaze that hadn’t been there seconds earlier. “Are you here in New York because of the Hessington case?”

A slight hesitation, and then Edward nodded. “Ava is in need of reassurance. I’m afraid she’s losing faith in Harvey.”

An almost instinctual defense of Harvey sprang to Mike’s lips, but he held it back, surprised that it still hurt to hear Harvey maligned by anyone. Instead, he chewed his lip for a second and asked, “You aren’t going to mention my involvement, are you? In the case, I mean. Stephen said Harvey wouldn’t have to know what we’re doing.”

“He won’t know. Not from me. I’m in complete agreement with Stephen on that.” He glanced at his watch and sighed. “I’m meeting Ava this afternoon for a late lunch. I’d planned to lie down for a few hours beforehand.”

Mike smiled at him. “I can take a hint. I’ll get out of your way.” He walked back to the table and set down his coffee cup. Edward grabbed his wrist, and Mike looked down at him in surprise.

“I don’t suppose,” Edward said, his smile somehow shy and lascivious at the same time, “you would consider keeping me company?”

“Uh,” was the only answer Mike could come up with at first. Then, “Stephen….” he began.

“I happen to know that Stephen doesn’t mind sharing.” Edward pulled Mike closer and let his other hand travel underneath Mike’s t-shirt and up his back. He sniffed Mike’s neck. “I can still smell him on you. It smells delicious.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay.” Things had officially gotten weird, Mike decided. Weirder. Still, he couldn’t stop the shiver that rippled through his entire body when Edward licked his way up his neck and bit down softly on his earlobe.

“Admit it,” Edward whispered, “you’re a little turned on by the idea.” He palmed Mike through the front of his jeans. “Oh, yes. I’ve definitely got your interest.”

Mike laughed nervously. “I don’t know. I should, uh, probably….” He gestured feebly towards the door.

But Edward’s thick fingers had already popped the button on Mike’s jeans and unzipped him. “Stay, Mike.” He slipped his hand into Mike’s briefs and stroked him.

Mike’s knees started to buckle at the expert touch. “Ah. God. That’s….” He fell against Edward and rested his forehead on his shoulder. Edward’s thumb teased his slit, and then rubbed at the underside of his head, unerringly finding the sensitive spot there that made Mike gasp and start to climb into Edward’s lap.

An amused voice murmured in his ear. “I’m far too old to fuck you on a chair. Come to bed with me.” The wonderful, knowing hand withdrew from Mike’s pants, settling on his hip to gently move him back. Edward plucked the napkin from his lap, threw it on the table, and stood up, grabbing Mike’s hand to drag him towards the bedroom Mike hadn’t seen yet.

With Edward’s hand no longer teasing his dick, Mike’s brain had the opportunity to kick back in again, and it started screaming at him, things like, _what the fuck are you doing?_ And, _do not fuck the managing partner of your law firm, stop, run, bad, bad, bad – so bad and wrong._

His legs kept right on walking, though, and his poor brain never had a chance, because his dick was firmly in charge of things at the moment.

“Get undressed, Mike,” Edward instructed, even as he pulled his own sweater over his head, followed by his undershirt. He was a thick man, but as his shoes and socks came off and his pants fell to the floor, Mike had to admit that for an older man he kept himself reasonably fit.

Edward glanced over at Mike, and annoyance flitted across his face. “Get moving, Mike. Strip.” He shoved his boxers down and stepped out of them, revealing a long, thick cock already stiff and leaking. “For once I won’t be needing my little blue pills, and at my age that doesn’t’ happen very often, so if we could hurry this along….”

He advanced on Mike, grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, jerked it over his head and off. Taking the hint, Mike shimmied out of his jeans and briefs. Edward smiled at him, that unsettlingly sweet smile of his. He grasped Mike’s arm and drew him to the bed with him, throwing back the dark green comforter and patting the sheets. “Up you go. On your hands and knees.”

Mike hesitated, wondering if he could handle a replay of the previous night’s activities, and wondering when he had turned into such of shameless slut. But it turned out that attention and appreciation were addictive, and he craved another fix. He climbed up on the bed and knelt for Edward.

“Such an adorable boy,” Edward said. He sat on the bed next to Mike, holding a tube of lube, and Mike realized he must have retrieved it from his suitcase earlier, after he ordered breakfast and was waiting for Mike to get dressed. Mike glanced at the nightstand, and sure enough, a box of condoms sat there, proclaiming Edward’s full confidence in his own powers of persuasion. “Let’s just make sure you’re loose and ready for me.”

Mike grabbed a pillow and held it tightly, resting his head against it and closing his eyes, while Edward’s thick, blunt finger pressed wetly into him. Mike sighed, a contented little, “ahh,” at the feel of Edward pressing into him, finding his prostate, and making him squirm for long minutes. Finally, apparently satisfied that Mike was ready for him, Edward removed his fingers and patted Mike’s hip. “Good lad,” he said.

Mike looked over his shoulder to find Edward rolling on a condom and smiling at him. The approval he saw in his expression shouldn’t have mattered so much to him, but it pierced straight through him, and he found himself grinning back like an idiot.

Edward caressed Mike’s bottom. “You must surely be sore still from last night.” He lay down next to Mike, on his back, cock standing at attention. “I’d like you to ride me. Would that be all right with you?”

Mike swallowed convulsively. Never before had a sex partner been so polite to him, or made him feel so safe and cared for. He found himself wanting to give Edward Darby anything he wanted, so he nodded and said, “Sure.” He climbed on top of Edward, straddling his hips.

He felt the urge to lean down and kiss him, but Edward’s narrowed, lust-glazed eyes told him he wouldn’t appreciate the delay. So Mike wrapped a hand around Edward’s cock, lifted up, lined himself up with the plum-shaped head, and slowly lowered himself onto it, panting as his thighs trembled with the effort not to spear himself all at once.

Maintaining eye contact with Edward, he pushed down and felt the cock slide all the way inside his tight channel, huge and hot and perfect. They both groaned at the same time. Mike gave a breathless laugh and bit his lower lip. He planted his hands on Edward’s shoulders and arched his back, pulled his hips up, halfway off Edward’s cock, and then plunged down, watching Edward’s eyes roll shut and his head push back into the pillows as his mouth fell open.

“Christ, boy,” Edward gasped, “how are you so tight?” His hands stroked Mike’s hips and moved up to cup his bottom. “Oh, that’s good. Nice and slow. That’s it. So good.”

Eager to please, Mike kept to the slow pace, rolling his hips up and down, thankful that his bike riding kept his thighs in excellent shape. Even so, after several minutes, he began to perspire freely, his breathing growing labored. “Edward,” he panted. “I can’t…can I please….”

Edward smoothed his hands over Mike’s back and ass cheeks. “Listen to you,” he breathed, “asking for permission like a good little boy. Go ahead, then. Finish me off. Fuck yourself on me, sweetheart, hard and fast.”

Mike sped up, snapping his hips up and down, back arching and rounding with his efforts, eyes squeezed shut, heart pounding in his chest. He felt Edward’s cock hit his prostate, and he leaned back, hands braced on Edward’s legs, bouncing up and down on his cock. He had a flash of shame at how he must look, but brushed it away and kept going.

“Mike,” Edward wheezed, “I’m close. But – ” Edward gave a rumbling groan as Mike paused and squeezed his channel around him. “Oh, that’s wonderful. So perfect. But you Mike, do not come. Not yet.”

Mike resumed moving, bouncing again with renewed vigor. He was so close, and could sense that Edward was as well. He thumbed one of Edward’s nipples. Edward arched up, eyes fluttering closed. Going on instinct, Mike pinched the stiff little nub, quick and hard. Edward froze and gave a broken sounding cry, pushing upward into Mike, who could feel the hot pulses of him coming into the condom. He sat all the way down on Edward, clutching the base of his own cock to keep from tipping over the edge into orgasm, and let Edward ride out his aftershocks inside of him.

Finally, Edward collapsed against the pillows and Mike felt him grow soft inside of him. Moving stiffly, Mike eased up off of him, and fell onto his back beside him. His painfully hard cock rested against his belly and he stroked gingerly up the underside, torturing himself a little. Edward’s damp hand landed on his arm and he looked over at the older man.

“That was marvelous,” Edward whispered. “Best I’ve had in years.” His gaze took in Mike’s erection. “You did so well, you beautiful boy.” He patted his arm. “I’d like to reward you.” He scooted a little further down the bed and shoved two pillows under his head. “Come here. Straddle my shoulders and give me that pretty cock of yours.”

Mike was certain he’d heard him incorrectly. “You want….what?”

Edward chuckled. “I want to suck you and feel and taste you when you come down my throat. Is that clear enough for you?”

Mike froze, trying to process the fact that the managing partner of Pearson Darby wanted to give him a blow job. Could this day get any more bizarre?

Seeming amused, Edward patted his own chest. “Climb up, Mike. I assure you, I’m quite good at this. Ava’s father loved to fuck my face. It was one of his favorite things.” When Mike didn’t immediately begin to move, the smile dropped from Edward’s face. “I won’t ask you again.”

Mike couldn’t tell from Edward’s soft voice if he was angry or disappointed, but he didn’t want either emotion directed at him, so he did as he’d been told, and climbed up to straddle Edward’s chest. The tip of his cock hovered near Edward’s lips. Edward’s smile had returned, and the tension inside Mike eased. “Feed it to me,” Edward said. “Lean over me, hold onto the headboard, and fuck my face.”

Mike nearly lost it just from his calm instructions. He bit back a whimper, sucked in a breath, and placed the head of his cock inside Edward’s open, waiting mouth. He grabbed the headboard. Moving carefully, he pushed in further, only to have Edward lift his head, clutch Mike’s ass, and swallow him down, sheathing him in a moist heat that made Mike groan with deep, heartfelt pleasure. He was afraid to move, didn’t want to come too soon, but Edward slapped his ass, once lightly, and then again more sharply.

Getting the message, Mike began to thrust, careful and slow. Edward relaxed his throat, encouraging Mike to fuck in and out with increasing force. Mike had settled into a steady pace when he felt Edward’s tongue snake around him. He stuttered to a halt, and Edward’s throat convulsed around him, massaging his cock. Mind melting, Mike yelled wordlessly and his hips began to piston in and out. It took perhaps a dozen rapid, focused strokes before Mike was coming hard down Edward’s throat, screaming so loud he dimly wondered if hotel security would soon be pounding on the door.

He pulled out, and to his amazement, Edward chased his cock with his mouth, holding the tip in his mouth while he sucked hard until Mike whimpered his surrender. Edward moved his head back, but held Mike’s limp cock in his hand, applying little kitten licks to it as if he wanted to capture every trace of cum that he could find. When he finally let him go, Mike collapsed sideways, sliding off of Edward and onto his back to stare blankly up at the ceiling.

He wanted to thank Edward, to tell him how amazing it had felt, but he couldn’t speak, could barely form a coherent thought, so he lay there panting. After a while, he felt Edward’s hand on his head, petting him. “So lovely,” the older man murmured.

Mike slanted a glance at him. “You killed me,” he slurred. “I am dead.”

An indulgent chuckle. “Get over here.” Edward urged him closer, until Mike lay snugly against him, arm draped across Edward’s chest, his head on his shoulder. He knew he should get up, maybe take a shower, definitely get dressed and go home. But something about Edward Darby made him feel safe and cherished and protected, which was absurd, considering he was not just his boss but his boss’s boss, and likely every bit as devious and predatory as Jessica Pearson or Harvey Specter. Still, the solidity of his body, the even rhythm of his breathing, and the soothing feel of his hand stroking up and down Mike’s back all worked to relax him, and between one breath and the next, he slid into a dreamless sleep.

 

When he woke up again, he was alone and in the dark. He listened intently, but could hear no one else in the suite. Edward must have left for his meeting with Ava Hessington. Mike could hardly believe that he had slept through the sounds of Edward rising and showering and dressing, but apparently he had been that exhausted. He lay there, thinking back on the last twenty-four hours. Had he really been fucked by both Stephen Huntley and Edward Darby, one right after the other? He searched inside of himself for the shame he should feel, that any normal person would feel, but it simply wasn’t there. He did experience a flutter of unease at the thought of facing either or both of them at the office next week, but he pushed that away and ended up laughing out loud instead.

He wondered what Harvey would think of him if he knew, and the laughter died in his throat.

_Don’t think, just keep moving forward._

He crawled out of bed, half expecting to find a polite thank-you note from Edward, but there was nothing. Deciding to wait until he got home to shower, he dressed in record time and got out of there as fast as he could. As he rode the elevator down to the lobby, he decided that he would take the rest of the weekend off.

Because his life could never seem to cease to kicking him in the teeth, the first thing he saw when he exited the elevator was Harvey and Dana Scott, dressed to perfection, entering the front door of the hotel and strolling across the lobby in the direction of one of the restaurants. He hung back in the elevator bay, watching them, willing them to not turn in his direction. Thankfully, they continued past him and disappeared around a corner.

He wasted no more time getting out of there. As the doorman hailed him a cab and he climbed inside, he wondered if Harvey and Scottie were meeting Edward and Ava Hessington for the late lunch Edward had mentioned. Not that he cared. He wanted to be as far away from that meeting as humanly possible. He could only hope that he could trust Edward to keep quiet about his encounter with Mike. Mike’s instincts told him that Edward was scrupulously discreet, but his instincts had been wrong before.

Part of Mike hoped Harvey never found out about what he had gotten up to in the Pearson Darby suite, but another vindictive, spiteful part of him wished he had a video of every filthy act he’d performed with Stephen and Edward, from numerous angles, with slow motion and zoom and set to raunchy porn music, that he could send to Harvey, so that he’d know how miniscule of a fuck Mike gave that Harvey had cut him out of his life.

And now that he thought about it, he would wouldn’t mind having a copy of that video for himself. _Yeah, and I could show it to my grandchildren._ He started to laugh, and didn't stop until he saw the alarmed looks the cab driver was throwing him in the rearview mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. And I'm not sorry. NOT SORRY, I tell you. (Okay, maybe a tiny bit sorry.) I'd love to hear what you all thought of this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your wonderful comments, dear readers. And now, I give you chapter 3.

Mike spent the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday on his couch in front of the television, feeding his brain with hours of mindless nonsense so that he wouldn’t dwell too closely on his poor decision-making skills. The more time that passed, the more convinced he became that he had made a colossal mistake. Well, one biggish mistake, followed by a colossal mistake.

He wasn’t sure how he could look Stephen in the eye now. And Edward…Mike feared that he had signed his own career death warrant, because how would the man – the managing partner, for fuck’s sake – ever respect Mike after witnessing the spectacle of him bouncing up and down in his lap and screaming like banshee?

In between the massive, debilitating waves of regret, however, Mike couldn’t help smiling at the memory, and couldn’t help stroking himself off as he remembered how Stephen had used him, and thinking about how he would like to be used in the future, repeatedly and in every position imaginable.

After fluctuating between smugness and angst and arousal for a full day, Mike was relieved when Monday morning finally arrived so he could bury himself in work once more and attempt to drive the torturous hamster wheel of doubt and confusion from his head.

As Stephen had requested, he started in on the expense reports that had been delivered to his work room. Perhaps because Edward had mentioned the name, he began to notice numerous mentions of a Colonel M. and Colonel Moriga. “Dinner with Colonel Moriga.” “Airfare to Nice to meet with Colonel M.” When he came to the file containing copies of Stephen’s expense reports, he noted a few mentions of the mysterious colonel, although without fail, Stephen referred to him merely as “Moriga.” Which seemed odd. Odder still, he discovered a significant gap in the dates of Stephen’s reports, covering the period when the bribes and deaths had taken place.

It had to have been a mistake, he decided. Or perhaps Stephen had removed them because he needed to refer to them for some reason. As much as Mike wracked his brain, however, he couldn’t come up with an adequate explanation. Stephen had said he might be back Monday afternoon, and would surely be back tomorrow. Finding the answer – and the reports – could wait for one more day.

By two thirty, he was bored and restless, and needed to stretch his legs. He didn’t consciously plan to wander upstairs and walk past Stephen’s guest office, but his feet led him there, so he peered into the dark room and decided that it couldn’t hurt to have a quick look around. He flipped on the light and scanned the room. Stephen’s desktop was completely bare, but he had a series of files arranged in stacks on the credenza next to the desk. He sat in Stephen’s chair behind the desk and rolled closer to the credenza, walking his fingers across the edges of the file folders. None of them appeared to have anything to do with the Hessington case.

He leaned back in the chair, thinking. His gaze landed on the drawers on one side of the desk, and he pulled open the top one. Pens, paperclips, two brass-colored keys on a metal ring, rubber bands, staples, stapler, loose change. He slid it shut and tried the second drawer down. This one contained a paper sorter with slots for letterhead, envelopes, and blank paper. Whistling tunelessly through his teeth, he shut that drawer and pulled on the third and final drawer. It was locked.

He glanced up at the doorway, and back at the desk drawer. Chewing on his lower lip, he slowly slid the top drawer open once more and plucked up the two keys, letting them dangle from his index finger.

After a brief intense internal debate ending up with him rationalizing that once a man has let another man paddle his ass and fuck him with a dildo, he should be allowed to take a peak in that man’s locked desk drawers. It was like an unspoken social contract.

_The party of the first part, hereafter referred to as the spankee, and the party of the second part, hereafter known as the spankor…._

Mike smiled and declared to the empty room, in his best Groucho voice, “You should have come to the first party, we didn't get home till around four in the morning. I was blind for three days.” He laughed, but then the smile froze and slipped from his face. It was only funny if there was someone else there who got the reference.

He sighed shaking his head. Even if Stephen was here, he’d probably just be puzzled. Polite, but puzzled.

Mike unlocked the drawer and dragged it open. He discovered only one file, of medium thickness, which he extracted and dropped on the desk. Inside he found originals and copies of phone records, the missing expense reports, Stephen’s own personnel file, and photographs showing Stephen at university, in a rugby uniform, posing with his arms around his teammates, one of whom Mike recognized from other sources as the man now known as Colonel Moriga. He blew out a breath, brow wrinkling.

Fearing what he would find, he scanned the phone records and expense reports, and an unmistakable picture began to form in front of him. He saw clearly that it was Stephen himself who had repeatedly phoned Moriga, Stephen who had flown to meet him just after the murders, Stephen who had authorized a wire transfer to Moriga’s offshore account in an amount equal to more money than most people could earn in a lifetime – more than entire villages in Moriga’s country could earn.

His discovery would have been sinister enough on its own, but its significance became even more glaringly obvious when Mike flipped over another page and found of a copy of Moriga’s airfare charge for his trip to New York, where he would be arriving the next day, Tuesday, to give a deposition for Cameron Dennis.

Mike closed the file and stared sightlessly at the far wall, trying to feel surprised, trying to feel outraged, trying to feel anything, but remaining numb. His mind whirred and churned, adding and re-adding what he’d just seen. Each time he did the math, the result remained the same: Stephen was involved in at least six murders. If he hadn’t committed the acts himself, he had surely paid Colonel Moriga to carry them out, all for the benefit of Hessington Oil.

He shivered, remembering Stephen’s hands on him. _Hands of a killer._

He smoothed the top of the file folder, fingers moving across it over and over. What should he do?

He could confront Stephen, but then he’d be faced with a choice – either keep the secret and become complicit in the crime, or….Or what? Could Stephen afford to let him live if….His thoughts trailed off at this point. How far would Stephen go to save himself? He’d already sanctioned murder to benefit a client.

Mike grew suddenly colder.

A client. Ava Hessington, who Edward Darby looked upon as family.

Mike rested his head in his hands, clutching his temples. Edward had to have known. Stephen was loyal to Darby, was his right hand man. Had the order come from Darby, been passed down to Stephen, and relayed to Moriga? Or had Stephen taken matters into his own hands, acting on his own initiative? Even if that was the case, Darby had to realize by now. Why else had he been questioning Mike about Moriga?

Mike put a hand over his mouth, feeling dirty and ill. He stared down at the file. What did he do with it now? Put it back? Pretend he’d never seen it?

Panic surged through him and he squeezed his eyes shut. Stephen and Darby could destroy his life at Pearson Darby. They could humiliate him, make sure that no one took him seriously ever again. Could he stand that? Was it worth it? What the hell should he do?

_What would Harvey do?_

He took long, slow breaths to calm himself. Harvey, he knew with utter certainty, would tell the truth, no matter what. He wouldn’t stand for maintaining an association with men like these. He’d take this information and use it to grind them into dust, and let the chips fall where they may.

Mike pulled out his phone to check the time. Nearly three o’clock. Stephen might not be back until tomorrow, but he could also show up at any minute. He eyed the file in front of him. Half an hour, he estimated. He could make copies of everything in there and have it locked back in the drawer in half an hour, maybe less, and that seemed well worth the gamble.

Having made his decision, he grabbed the file folder and hit the hallway running, heading for the interior stairs and pounding down to the thirty-fourth floor where he could make photocopies in the safe isolation of his work room. He hadn’t figured out exactly what he would do with the copies once he had them, but he damn sure wasn’t about to let Stephen Huntley and Edward Darby get away with murder, despite whatever personal feelings he may have developed towards them, and even if he ruined his own career and personal reputation in the process.

 

Mike had his copies. He’d returned the file to Stephen’s office, locked it in the drawer, and his new set of copies were safely tucked away in his messenger bag. It was after ten at night and he still sat in the work room with his feet up on the table, chair leaned back precariously, highlighter tapping against his bottom lip. His mind hadn’t stopped working since he’d made his decision. He’d considered carrying the file to Harvey, presenting it to him as a peace offering, but he’d tried that before, before Stephen, and Harvey had thrown his help right back in his face.

Harvey despised betrayal, and in his mind Mike had committed the ultimate sin. It didn’t matter that Jessica hadn’t given Mike a choice. Betrayal was betrayal and that was that. End of story. Case closed.

Maybe Harvey wouldn’t be impressed, in any case, with Mike trying to get back into his good graces by betraying someone else.

Mike had also considered taking the file to Cameron Dennis. The only problem there was that he didn’t trust Dennis not to use the information against Harvey somehow, to twist things around in order to satisfy his craving for revenge against Harvey. Mike didn't dare delve too deeply into the question of why Harvey's fate still mattered so much to him.

Jessica? That could work, except that she seemed pretty tight with Edward Darby these days. Would her need to protect the firm outweigh her desire to see justice done? He couldn’t tell. She was too hard to read. Too risky.

He let his feet slide to the floor and leaned forward onto his folded arms, exhaustion hitting him. He knew that Moriga’s deposition was scheduled for ten o’clock in the morning. If he couldn’t come up with a satisfactory solution before then, Ava Hessington would probably be indicted before the end of the week, Harvey would lose the case, and Stephen would be free to fly back to London. Was he still expecting Mike to go with him, or had his interest in Mike all been an act, a way to distract him and ensure that he never discovered Stephen’s involvement?

That was the least of Mike’s worries, but it still stung. The one person who had shown any extended interest in him for the last few weeks had probably been playing him for a fool. He groaned into his arms. He should go home and get some sleep, but the thought of standing up and walking to the elevator sounded like too much trouble. When he felt himself begin to drift, he managed to get up, drag himself to the door, turn off the overhead light and crawl under the table. He used his messenger bag as a pillow, draped his suit jacket over himself, and settled in to spend the night.

 

******

 

Mike stationed himself in the lobby near the elevators by seven thirty Tuesday morning. He could feel the weight of the file in his messenger bag where it hung down his back. In one hand he held a coffee drink. When he spotted Donna entering the building right on schedule and click-clacking her way across the polished marble floor toward him, something inside of him shifted and a small portion of his tension eased away.

“Donna,” he began as she breezed past him.

She cut him off with a single word. “No.” She hit the “up” button for the elevator and stared straight ahead at her reflection in the shiny metal door.

Mike edged around into her line of sight and held the coffee out towards her. “It’s just the way you like it.”

“Mike.” She gave an exasperated huff, but took the drink from him. She eyed him sidewise. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

At least she was talking to him. Sort of. “I know. You’re loyal to Harvey and I’m…scum. But I’m getting on that elevator with you, and all I ask is that you listen to what I have to say while we ride up to your floor together.”

She didn’t answer, but she did take a dainty sip of her drink, and she didn’t walk away from him.

The doors opened silently, and he followed her into the empty elevator. As the door closed, a man tried to enter, but Mike held up his hand, denying him entrance. “Take the next one,” he snapped, and the doors shut in the man’s surprised face.

“Rude,” Donna chided, looking up at the ceiling. After a moment, she said, “You better start talking, because I think we caught the express.”

“Okay. Yes. Right.” He swung the messenger bag around to his front and fished out the file. “Harvey needs to see what’s in this file. He can’t have seen it yet, because Stephen Huntley had the originals locked up in his desk. This clears Ava of ordering the murders, and implicates Colonel Moriga. And it…it….” His throat closed up and he couldn’t finish, couldn’t speak the worst part of it out loud. He’d gotten Donna’s attention, though.

She took the file from him, and handed him her coffee cup so she could flip through the photocopied pages. Mike looked away, but he knew the moment she came to the photograph of a younger Stephen in his rugby uniform, grinning into the camera with his arm draped around Moriga’s neck. She gasped and a moment later slapped the folder shut.

“Holy shit, Mike,” she said, eyes wide. “Talk about a smoking gun. This is….” She stopped and peered at him. “What is it Mike? What’s wrong?”

He realized he was trembling, and tried to laugh it off, but it came out weak and shaky. “Nothing. I’m just…give it to Harvey, okay? Don’t tell him it’s from me, at least not before he has a good look at it.”

The bell dinged, and he realized that they’d already reached her floor. She grabbed his arm and pulled him out into the lobby with her. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you should give this to Harvey yourself.”

Mike shook his head. “No. Nope.” It was all hitting him at once, at the worst possible moment, what he’d done, allowing Stephen to not just fuck him, but to manipulate him, to use him, to own him, to put his killer’s hands all over him, inside him. And he’d loved it. He’d submitted willingly, allied himself with the enemy, and right then, he couldn’t see a way back from that. He handed Donna her coffee.

“I’ll make sure Harvey knows who gave it to me,” she said.

Mike’s heart thumped in his chest. Once Harvey knew, Stephen would know soon enough. Would Stephen come after Mike? His plan had seemed so perfect at three this morning, but now he realized that he’d been fooling himself.   Even if Stephen was locked up before he had a chance to hurt Mike physically, that wouldn’t stop him from hurting him in other ways. He backed away from Donna and leaned against the wall, suddenly light-headed.

He should have become used to betraying people by now, he thought dimly.

“Mike. Are you okay?”

He nodded tightly at her, digging his fingernails into his palms to keep the dizziness at bay. “Yeah. I’m fine. Good luck with the deposition. I’ve gotta….” He made a vague gesture in the opposite direction of Harvey’s office and bolted, heading for the men’s room.

Inside, he splashed water on his too pale face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Another wave of dizziness hit him and he clutched the edge of the counter for support. He wondered if he was going to be sick, but realized that he hadn’t eaten anything since…Sunday? He couldn’t remember. He should take the elevator back to the lobby and get a muffin or something. His legs felt too shaky, so he went into one of the stalls and locked the door, perching on the edge of the toilet seat, holding his head in his hands.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. His phone beeped loudly, echoing weirdly in the confined space. He pulled it out of his pocket to see that he had a text from Stephen. _“I’m back. Where are you?”_

Mike groaned and shook out his hands, trying to get his blood flowing. _“On my way to wrk rm,”_ he texted back.

His stomach cramped with dread, but he stood, left the stall, washed his hands thoroughly and dried them, rubbing the rough paper towel over them until it hurt. Then he crumpled the paper towel and threw it into the garbage with such force that his wrist hit the edge of the receptacle. “Fuck,” he barked. Having stalled as long as he could, he exited the men’s room and walked down the short hallway back to the elevator bay.

“Mike.”

He turned his head sharply. Harvey was bearing down on him, a dark expression on his face. Mike gave the elevator button a listless push, but Harvey reached him before the doors could open to rescue him.

“We need to talk,” Harvey growled. He grabbed Mike’s arm just above his elbow, fingers digging painfully into him.

“I’m…needed,” Mike said, sounding unconvincing even to his own ears.

“Come with me.” The words were spoken directly into his ear, and then Harvey was dragging him in the direction of his office. Mike wasn’t exactly anxious to get downstairs and see Stephen, so he let himself be dragged, half-running to keep up with Harvey’s long strides. He had a brief impression of Donna’s wide eyes staring at him as they passed by, and then he was in Harvey’s office, a place he’d never thought to be invited inside again. Although at the moment it felt more like a mugging than an invitation.

Harvey dropped into his chair behind his desk. “Sit down, Mike.”

Mike stood near the door, refusing to move any further into the office. “Everything you need to know is in the file I gave Donna.”

“Bullshit.”

That surprised a nervous laugh out of Mike. “What?”

Harvey pointed a finger at his couch. “Get over there and sit.”

Mike’s legs were moving before he even realized what he was doing. He told himself he was only taking a seat because he still felt shaky.

The file Mike had given Donna sat in the middle of Harvey’s desk and Harvey tapped it with a finger. “Explain this to me.”

Mike shrugged. “It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

“No. Don’t sit there smirking at me and acting stupid. Explain to me how you were anywhere near this case when I explicitly told you I did not want your help. Explain how you were aware enough of the details to realize what this means. And for the love of God, please explain to me how you knew to go looking for these in Stephen’s office, inside his locked desk drawer.”

Every inch of Mike had tensed up during Harvey’s quietly angry tirade. “You know I’ve been working for Stephen.”

“And?”

“And…he…he asked me to assist him.”

“On the Hessington Oil case.” Harvey’s voice was flat and incredulous.

A wave of exhaustion hit Mike. “Yes. He had orders from Darby – ”

“Fuck Darby,” Harvey stated clearly.

_Been there, done that._ Mike rubbed a finger over one eye, trying to massage away his growing headache. “We were only meant to be…I don’t know…a safety net.”

Harvey glared at him, eyes nearly black. He stood suddenly and began pacing restlessly in front of Mike, jaw working with anger. “A safety net. Because I’m so fucking incompetent I can’t be trusted to do my job?”

“No,” Mike said weakly.

“And you went along with this. You joined forces. Why? To make me look like a fool?”

“No,” Mike whispered.

“Then, why?”

Mike leaned back and stared at the ceiling, unable to witness Harvey’s spiraling rage any longer.

“Why?” When Mike didn’t answer, Harvey stomped over and leaned over him, tendons standing out in his neck, eyes flashing with anger. “Answer me, god damn it. I mean, _Jesus,_ Mike. One betrayal wasn’t enough? You just wanted to stick it to me some more? Tell me, Mike what did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much?”

Mike buried his face in his hands. “I don’t,” he mumbled. “I don’t hate you, Harvey.”

“Then look at me and tell me right now why you were working with Stephen Huntley on _my goddamn case._ ”

“Because….” _Because he was nice to me._ “He said…he told me he wanted me to work for him, to move to London and become his associate. Our work together was only meant to back you up.”

“Oh. I see. If you could find some way to trip me up, your reward was a promotion and a move to London?”

“Trip you up? No. No, Harvey. That’s not what we were doing.”

Mike had been cringing back, away from Harvey, and was thankful when the other man finally backed up and leaned against the front of his desk. Mike tried to calm his breathing, to get his racing heart back under control.

“Weren’t you? How am I supposed to believe that, when Stephen was deliberately holding back this information?”

“I didn’t know,” Mike said miserably. “I didn’t have a clue. He had me fooled, with the nice suits, and the suave….”   He waved his hand vaguely in the air. “The suave and debonair thing he had going on. And the flirting….” He realized he was wringing his hands and abruptly stopped, clutching them together and holding them against his belly. “He seemed so….I mean, I never would have….” He trailed off.

Harvey regarded him in silence for a full minute, ratcheting Mike's tension up several more notches. Finally, “Never would have…what?” Harvey asked, voice deadly.

A sudden, irrational need to unburden himself overrode Mike’s common sense, and he whispered, “I never would have slept with him.” He waited for an explosion, a scathing comment, anything, but Harvey remained silent, staring back at Mike as if trying to digest what he’d just heard. “I’m sorry, Harvey.”

The play of emotions across Harvey’s face was almost fascinating to watch. Shock, followed by something which might have been pain, followed by pity, which morphed smoothly back into an anger so scorching that Mike found himself rearing back out of the way.

“Stay here,” Harvey said, voice deceptively calm. He slammed through his office door and stormed away down the hall, moving so fast that his suit jacket flared behind him like a cape.

Mike met Donna’s gaze through the glass wall, and she looked just as shaken up as he felt. He hadn’t thought about her out there listening to everything they said, but now, too late, he remembered. The realization that he’d also just confessed to her his gullibility and idiocy and humiliation made him sicker than he’d already been. It didn’t help that he hadn’t even told them everything, hadn’t gotten to the part about Darby.

He knew that Harvey had gone after Stephen, and that nothing good could come of that. He didn’t want to face Harvey when he got back, couldn’t stand the thought of confronting Stephen, of seeing what lay beneath that smooth, civilized mask. So he waited until Harvey had a good head start, and then, cursing himself for being a coward, he fled the office, ignoring the sounds of Donna calling for him to come back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you for the kudos and comments. I couldn't answer you all personally this week due to work slammage, but I appreciated every comment.

Mike’s intention when he left Harvey's office was to run for home, lock and barricade the door, and lay low for…well, forever, if he could. His plans changed when he pushed through the revolving doors at street level and emerged straight into a brutal gust of nearly horizontal rain. He knew he’d never make it home on his bike in this downpour, and finding a free cab would probably have to wait until the morning rush hour subsided. Temporarily defeated, he ducked back inside and made for the Starbucks in the corner of the building.

With a double Americano and a blueberry muffin in front of him, he sat at one of the tiny tables that lined the back wall. He sipped coffee, moved pieces of muffin into his mouth, chewed and swallowed, but didn’t taste a thing, and only bothered to eat at all so that he wouldn’t collapse in a ridiculous heap on the floor. Every time he began to imagine what might be happening thirty-plus floors above him, he took another gulp of too hot coffee and focused on the burn that traveled down his throat and all the way to his belly.

Eventually, though, the coffee cooled and could no longer distract him from picturing the confrontation between Harvey and Stephen. He visualized clenched fists and rage-filled faces, imagined that he heard the crunch of bone and smelled the thick mineral scent of spilled blood.

He had just decided that finding a place that served liquor at this time of morning might be a better plan, when he heard his name and looked up to find Rachel barreling down on him. Right behind her marched Dana Scott.

_Fucking fuck._

It was too late to hide, or to pretend that he didn’t see them, so he stood up to face them head on. “Hello, ladies,” he said. He tried to give Rachel a sincere smile, but the humiliation of their last night together still smarted too much, and his gaze slid away from hers. His only consolation was that she appeared just as uncomfortable as he felt.

At Rachel’s shoulder, Scottie’s expression could only be interpreted as hostile. “Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you, Mike?”

He couldn’t begin to count the number of times in his life that he’d heard that line, or some variation of it. He did what he always did and gave her a careless shrug. “You’ll have to be more specific.” Which was true. He wasn’t sure if she was annoyed that he had won the Hessington case for them, or if she’d already heard about his involvement with Stephen, and assumed he had slept with him as some sort of strategy to get ahead at the firm. _She would know all about that,_ he thought, but didn’t dare say it out loud.

Scottie glared back at him. Tempting as it was to engage with her and cut her to ribbons, he felt a more pressing need to find out what had happened upstairs, so he ignored her in favor of Rachel. “Are you just now arriving?” he asked her.

Scottie elbowed Rachel out of her way so she could speak directly to Mike while watching his face. “We’ve been here since six, busting our asses to find a break in the case. We step out for ten minutes and all hell breaks loose. I have three texts from Donna, two from Edward, and one from Stephen. Nothing from Harvey.” Here she paused long enough to sniff angrily.

When she opened her mouth to continue, he cut her off. "What did they say?" What he really wanted to ask was, _what did Stephen say? Is he all right? Is Harvey all right? Should I be fleeing from one or both of them right now? Oh, and on a related subject, has Darby mentioned anything interesting that happened to him over the weekend?_

From behind Scottie, Rachel piped up. "Donna asked us to keep an eye out for you. Told us to get ourselves back to the office ASAP, and told us we didn't need to get her any coffee after all."

"Edward," Scottie grated, "asked if I'd seen you today, and then requested to see me before Moriga's deposition. And Stephen's text arrived just before we found you. He only bothered with two words: 'Where's Mike?' Interesting, isn't it? Everybody's looking for little Mike Ross." Her mouth had an ugly twist to it, and her dark eyes seemed seconds away from shooting flames at him. "What in the hell did you do?"

Just at that moment, both Scottie and Rachel's phones buzzed. Evidently, they had received identical messages. "From Harvey," Rachel said.

"And isn't this perfect," finished Scottie. "He says that if we see you, we should send you back upstairs." She tore her gaze away from the phone and glared at Mike. "Start talking, pretty boy."

Rachel choked on a laugh. "Yeah. What she said."

Mike sighed, shoulders slumping. He sat down and motioned for them to do the same. "I...found something," he began, and went on to explain about the file he'd found, and how it implicated Stephen. He left out his escapades in the Pearson Darby suite at the Ritz-Carlton, although he was certain it would all become public knowledge soon enough. "So," he finished, "the last I saw of Harvey, he was on his way to confront Stephen. At least, that’s where I think he was headed." He shrugged. "That's all I know."

Scottie gave an unladylike snort. "I can't say that I'm all that shocked. I always sensed something a little off about Stephen. Something not quite right." She laughed, shaking her head slowly. "Thank God I never slept with him."

In an effort to cover his sudden flush of embarrassment, Mike said meanly, "Is that unusual for you?"

"You better shut it, blondie. Thanks to you, Harvey won't even consider another try with me."

Mike knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't seem to hide his shock. "What are...that's not...Harvey and I never...."

"Oh, like you wouldn't have, eventually? I've seen your type plenty of times before. You act all wide-eyed and innocent, and meanwhile you're fucking anything that moves."

Rachel choked again and they both ignored her, Scottie because she was apparently firmly in the Bitch Zone and had zeroed in on Mike with laser-like intensity, and Mike because his mind was scrambling to find an appropriate comeback, and couldn't, since Scottie had managed to hit the nail squarely and viciously on the head. _Pot, kettle, pot,_ his mind babbled a touch hysterically.

Rachel's phone buzzed, and Mike and Scottie turned to watch as she read the text. "It's from Donna." Her face grew serious. "Oh my God." She popped to her feet. "Harvey and Stephen had a fight. Stephen's face is bleeding, and Harvey is icing his knuckles." She looked between them, gesturing urgently with her free hand. "Come on. We need to get back."

Scottie's mouth was moving and twisting as if too many emotions filled her for her to decide on just one. He could see the wheels turning furiously behind her flat black eyes, and when her eyes narrowed in sudden understanding, all the smoke alarms in his brain fired off at once. "You little weasel," she hissed, poking a finger in his chest. "You fucked Stephen. Didn't you?"

"What?" said Rachel, confusion clouding her beautiful features.

Scottie gave an ugly laugh. "God, it's so obvious. This was personal for Harvey. Otherwise, why would he go on the attack like that? I might have assumed it was for his precious Donna, but I know for a fact that Stephen hit on her and she shut him down." She flicked Mike's lapel with her hand, a gesture of dismissive contempt. "Not you, though, right Mike? You thought you couldn't have Harvey, so you went for the next best thing. The British Harvey." She turned to Rachel, but kept her gaze on Mike. "It's always the quiet ones, right? We should call you Hurricane Mike. You just swept on through and flattened the neighborhood."

Mike's hands were clenched at his sides. He felt as if he'd been trapped for all eternity in a slow motion multi-vehicle pile-up. Rachel's huge eyes were trained on him. "Is it true, Mike?" she asked. "You slept with Stephen?"

He held up his hands, either in surrender or to ward them both off, he wasn't sure. "Don't give me that look. You and I were over weeks ago. We both know it never would have worked out."

Scottie's eyes went just as wide as Rachel's had a moment earlier. "What?" she said, snapping down on the "t" at the end of the word. "You and Mike? Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

Rachel stroked her arm, trying to soothe her, and all at once Mike realized they were more than just co-workers. He could see that they were on the verge of a very ugly, very public blow-up, and he simply did not have the strength to deal with it. He'd reached his limit. One hundred and ten percent done. He edged around them, murmuring, "Hurricane Mike, out."

Neither woman appeared to hear him or notice that he’d left. When he made it outside, it only seemed appropriate that the wind and rain were still battling it out to the death against the cars and pedestrians of Manhattan.

******

Mike arrived home a couple of hours later, laden with a bottle of vodka, an ounce of high-quality pot, three Xanax tablets, five Vicodin, a bag of cheese doodles, a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream and a massive headache. His clothes were soaked all the way to his skin and he could not stop shivering. He tossed the ice cream in the freezer for later, in case he ever got the appetite to eat it, and threw everything else onto the coffee table, except for the headache, which he carried to the bathroom with him, undressing as he went.

He turned on the shower, cranking up the hot water, and peeled the rest of his drenched clothes from his clammy flesh. The water may have sizzled against him when he stepped under the shower head, but he left the temperature as high as he could tolerate. He gave himself a perfunctory once-over with a sliver of soap and then stood under the stream of water, willing its warmth to infiltrate his insides and drive out the chill. Steam rose around him, undulating and seeming to throb in time with his head. Nausea choked him, so he finally turned off the water, wrapped himself in a towel, and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, clutching his stomach.

Eventually, the nausea subsided enough for him to stand and leave the bathroom. He dressed himself in pajama pants, a t-shirt, a heavyweight hoodie and a pair of thick wool socks. He collapsed on the sofa, wrapped in the multi-colored afghan his grandmother had crocheted for him the year before she died, and idly wondered where he'd put his migraine medicine. He hadn't had one this bad in quite some time, and hadn't bothered to refill the prescription. He suspected that whatever he had left had expired months earlier. He reached for one of the Vicodin and washed it down with a swig of vodka.

He flipped on the television and attempted to watch a show about ancient aliens, but his nausea bubbled up again, so he turned it off and lay with his eyes shut, urging the Vicodin to kick in faster. He considered taking another one, contemplated following that with one or two Xanax and washing it all down with the fifth of vodka. "There are easier and faster ways to kill yourself, Ross," he mumbled. And that hadn't been his plan, anyway, when he visited his dealer at the coffee cart. He simply wanted to make it through the next few days without completely losing his shit.

Finally, he struggled to a seated position and grabbed the bag of pot. He'd thrown out his pipe and his bong when he'd sworn the stuff off a few months back, but he'd grabbed some rolling papers at the bodega where he purchased his snacks. Working quickly and efficiently, he rolled three joints and lit the first, inhaling sharply and holding the smoke in his lungs before letting it out slowly. He worked his way through the joint, coughing every so often. His eyes drifted shut and the sharp edge of his migraine dulled ever so slightly. One last inhale, and his nausea eased up as well. He frowned down at the roach pinched between thumb and forefinger, and nodded appreciatively. "Medical marijuana," he rasped to the empty room. "It's a beautiful thing."

******

Soon after finishing off the joint, Mike drifted...not into sleep, precisely, but into a lethargic daze, where he floated for a while, entertaining strange, random thoughts until his apartment grew dark, and the downpour outside calmed to a drizzle. He took another Vicodin, sipped the vodka and held the bottle against his chest.

As he lay on his couch, he heard his phone trill every so often. He'd left it in the bathroom, and wished he had thought to turn it off. He started to reach for the cheese doodles on the coffee table and heard the phone buzz again. He sighed. He knew he couldn't ignore the consequences and fallout from this morning forever -- much as he would like to. He was working up the energy to walk to the bathroom when someone knocked on his front door.

All the good work that the pills and pot and alcohol had done vanished with that one jarring sound. It had to be either Stephen or Harvey, neither of whom he wanted to face, especially in his current condition. He lay very still, hoping they would give up and go away. Lawyers, though. Ugh. The knock repeated, louder this time, and a voice came through the door, muffled but clearly British.

Stephen, then. Double ugh.

"I'm coming," he grumbled and heaved himself to his feet. Clutching his bag of cheese doodles, he lurched toward the front door and yanked it open. "If you're here to murder me, please make it fast."

That was all he got out before he realized that it was Edward Darby standing on his doorstep, and not Stephen.

“Oh,” said Mike, and then could think of nothing more to add. A wave of something that felt like vertigo passed through him and he might have swayed a little bit.

Dark spots of rain speckled Edward’s grey wool coat, and his umbrella dripped onto the hallway’s worn carpeting. “May I come in?” he asked.

Even through the buzzing that filled Mike’s brain all of a sudden, he was impressed by Edward’s poker face and impeccably good manners. He gave his head a shake, trying to clear it, and took a step back. “Sure. Why not?” He staggered back to the couch and sat hard. His eyes drifted shut. He snapped them open and looked around for the cheese doodles. He glanced sideways and saw that he had dropped them near the end of the couch, where they’d spilled in a scatter of unnatural orange. Too much trouble to reach for them, he judged.

Edward came inside, shut the door, leaned his umbrella against the wall, and removed his coat, which he draped over the back of a chair. “Did you lose your phone, Mike?” he asked, voice soft.

Mike considered the question and then nodded his head yes, striving to look sincere. Unfortunately, at that moment his phone signaled loudly from the bathroom that he’d just received a new text. He winced.

Edward shot him a reproachful look and went into the bathroom. When he reemerged, he held Mike’s phone. He tossed it to him and Mike fumbled it, dropping it between his feet. He bent down to pick it up and nearly pitched forward off of the couch. “Damn it,” he muttered. He finally got hold of the phone and straightened up, swiping the screen to unlock it. He squinted at the message app, which seemed to be telling him he had eleven unread texts. Or seventeen. Or seventy-seven. It was difficult to tell. He opened the app. Harvey. Donna. Stephen. Rachel. Edward.

“All the usual suspects,” Mike muttered, and set the phone carefully on the coffee table next to the vodka and the pot and the pills.

“Mike. Look at me.”

He could see Edward in his peripheral vision, standing at the end of the couch, staring down at him. If Mike turned his head to look at him directly, what would he see on Edward’s face? Pity? Anger? Disappointment? Mike chewed his thumbnail and kept his gaze straight ahead. The silence stretched, while his nearly tamed headache whispered back to life, accompanied by a surge of nausea. Moving slowly, as if that would prevent Edward from seeing what he was doing, he reached toward the Vicodin. A hand clamped down on his wrist.

“Mike. What have you taken?” Mike didn’t recall Edward moving, but now he knelt next to him, one hand resting on Mike’s knee.

Mike finally looked him in the eye. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find in Edward’s expression, but it hadn’t been the kindness and concern that he saw. “Just…nothing. Not that much.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m a little high.” Edward continued to study him. “My head hurts,” Mike added, his voice catching on the last word. He gave an involuntary shiver.

“Mike….”

“Did you know?” Mike blurted out. “Did you give Stephen the order?”

A humorless smile strained Edward’s face. “Right to it, then.” He stood up, grimacing a little, and stepped over Mike’s feet to sit on the other side of him, his hand landing on Mike’s thigh. “To answer your questions, no and no.”

Mike blinked at him, trying to keep him in focus. “But you were asking – ”

“Yes. I was asking about Moriga, because I’d begun to suspect. I knew of Stephen’s past association with him. Stephen has been so on edge lately, and too keen to spend his time in New York, shadowing Harvey. Stephen is the real reason I made the trip here. I needed some answers.” He patted Mike’s leg. “And you found them for me.”

Edward's hand felt nice on him. He inched closer, until their legs touched. “What will happen to him?” An image of Stephen’s handsome, smiling face came to Mike’s mind. He closed his eyes and could almost feel his hands on him, stroking and petting, probing inside of him to drive him crazy. He realized that Edward had been speaking softly. With an effort, he tuned back in to him and tried once more to focus on his face.

“Once the DA puts a case together against him, he’ll be charged. I can’t see how he’ll avoid jail time.”

Mike’s stomach clenched at the thought of that. Stephen in jail. What good would that do? Would anyone come back to life? Would the ugly, international competition for mineral rights grow any more civilized? He frowned, shaking his head, fighting the urge to cry. He regretted the pot now, and the pills and the vodka, because it made it that much harder to think clearly. Or maybe he regretted not taking more, so he wouldn’t have to think at all. “Do you think I should have kept my mouth shut?”

Edward wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and he let himself be dragged into a one-armed hug. “You did the right thing, Mike. I’m proud of you.” He kissed his temple.

“I just don’t understand,” Mike murmured. “Why did he do it? I honestly believed he was a good man.” He rested his head on Edward's shoulder, hand creeping underneath his suit jacket to pet the crisp cotton of his shirt.

“He was. For the most part, I believe he still is. But this game we play, with so much money and power at stake, it tests our boundaries nearly every day. Tell me, Mike, since you became a lawyer, have you ever reached a point where you had to compromise, to go against something in yourself you once believed to be essential? Maybe it was a small concession. Maybe you only moved a fraction of a centimeter towards that line you swore you’d never cross. Stephen’s been at this much longer than you. As have I. We’ve crossed any number of lines we’d never dreamed that we would. And then the line moves, and we cross it again. And again. It’s insidious and awful, and sometimes it terrifies me.”

Mike tried to listen and understand what he was saying, but the sound of Edward's voice lulled and soothed him, and his attention kept drifting. Still, when he stopped talking, Mike glanced up at Edward's face. He looked unbearably sad and lost, and Mike’s heart ached for him. Without stopping to consider the consequences or propriety, he crawled into Edward’s lap and threw his arms around his neck, burrowing his face underneath his chin. Edward smelled of mossy forests and cinnamon and orange peels. “I’m sorry,” Mike breathed against him. And then, because he had to know, “How is Stephen doing?”

Edward’s arms tightened around him. “He’s angry. Disgusted. Mostly at himself. I sent him back to the hotel and told him to stay put.”

Mike shivered. “Do you think he’ll run?”

He felt Edward’s broad shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “I’d be surprised if he did. He’s no coward. He’s a fighter. And I believe he is truly remorseful for what he did.” He pulled slightly away from Mike so that he could meet his eyes. “He’s the reason I’m here right now.”

“What?”

Now Edward frowned, expressing mild disapproval. “He sent you any number of text messages, and you didn’t respond.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Mike, what did you think he was going to do? Threaten you? Punch you?”

Mike barked out a laugh, heard how inappropriate it sounded, and cleared his throat. “The punching seemed a pretty safe bet. In the face. Maybe in the neck.”

“Despite what you might think, he’s not a violent man.”

That surprised another laugh out of Mike. “Uh. Agree to disagree. And I still have the sore ass to back up my position.” He wiggled his butt in Edward's lap as if to demonstrate his point.

Edward sighed, and seemed to withdraw from Mike, even though one arm still encircled his shoulders. “That’s not the same thing. Not even remotely close.” He gently prodded Mike to slide off of his lap, then grabbed his chin and stared searchingly into his eyes. “You’re still high as a kite, aren’t you?” he finally asked, and stood up. “Do you have any coffee in your kitchen? I’m going to fix you some.”

“Why? I paid good money for this high.”

“Because I need to sober you up. And then, with your permission, I’d like to take you to the hotel. Stephen wants to see you.”

Mike gaped up at him. “No. That’s a terrible idea. I can’t see him. Not now.” _Maybe not ever_.

Edward walked the short distance to the kitchen. He rummaged in the cupboards and refrigerator and then turned back to Mike. “Where do you keep your coffee?”

Mike slumped against the couch cushions. “Freezer,” he said, starting to fee grumpy. When Edward’s back was turned, he slipped another Vicodin into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

Edward got the coffee going. While he waited for it to brew, he poked his head back into the refrigerator. “I think you should eat something as well.” Mike saw him frown before pulling out a nearly finished loaf of bread and an ancient jar of raspberry jam. “I suppose this will have to do.” He shot Mike a narrow-eyed look. “You should seriously consider stocking a few more nutritional items in your home.”

“Sure,” Mike said, not meaning it. “I’ll take that under advisement.” He grabbed the vodka and began taking sips from it, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax. When Edward suddenly snatched the bottle from his lax grasp, Mike’s eyes came open again. “Hey.”

“Please trust me when I tell you that this is no solution to your problems, whatever you perceive them to be. You can't medicate them away, and you’ll only make things worse.”

Mike gave a wordless growl. He tipped onto his side, shut his eyes and listened to the sounds of Darby working in his kitchen. In spite of his bad temper, Mike found it soothing and kind of…nice, having someone take care of him. “Was Jessica very angry?” he asked after a while.

That got a bitter laugh out of Edward. “Oh, you could say so. Let’s just say you should look for the name of your law firm to change once more, and quite soon.”

Mike hummed, signaling his understanding. “Kicked you to the curb, huh? I know the feeling. She tried that with me not that long ago. Harvey, of course, tried and succeeded.” There was silence in the kitchen. “I’ll miss you,” Mike said, surprising himself. “I mean, we never worked together, but it would have been nice to know you’d be showing up every once in a while. I would have...you know...we could have had a repeat." And then he ordered himself to shut up before he said anything even more stupid.

He opened his eyes when he heard Edward’s footsteps approaching. The older man held a mug of steaming coffee and a plate of toast slathered with jam.

“Thank you for that, sweetheart. I'll miss you, too. It’s rather remarkable, isn’t it? People come into and out of our lives all the time, barely making an impression. Sometimes, though, the shortest of acquaintance can leave the greatest impact.” He set the coffee and toast on the table. “Sit up for me now.”

Mike gave a dramatic sigh, but did as he’d been told, making room for the other man on the couch. He took the piece of toast Edward handed him and bit down, somewhat surprised when his stomach gave an approving rumble. He ate and drank, sitting passively and letting Edward decide how much and how fast. When the toast was gone, Mike wiped his thumb over the corners of his mouth, brushing away any lingering crumbs. Edward nodded toward the mug of coffee and Mike picked it up, taking another sip. He didn’t have the heart to tell Edward that it was decaf.

“Feeling better?”

Mike shrugged.

“Are you a bit more clear-headed, at least?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.” Mike softened his comment with a reluctant smile.

“Good. Will you accompany me now to go see Stephen?”

Despite what he’d told Edward, his brain remained fuzzy, enough so that he couldn’t completely focus on the question – or more accurately, the problem – of Stephen. Unable to muster up any logic to help himself, he had to rely on his feelings, and they were screaming a big, fat ”HELL NO” at him.

“Why should I?” he finally asked, and watched Edward’s face for any clues as to whether or not it was an acceptable response. “I mean, he must hate me. And I don’t know what I feel about him right now. I shouldn’t feel anything except disgust, and possibly hatred, but….” He put his coffee mug on the table and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “It was good.” His chest grew tight with the pressure of unshed tears. “It was so fucking good with him. It felt like everything changed, like I have to come up with a whole new vocabulary to describe that night with him. What he did to me….But then it turns out it was all a lie, and now I feel….”

Mike trailed off, unwilling to speak the words out loud. What did he feel? Weak. Foolish. Unclean. And on top of all of that, nearly blotting it out, he felt anger over what could have been. His gut told him that life in London with Stephen, as his associate and his lover, could have been so great, but now they would never have the chance to find out if he was right.

Edward was quiet for a time, letting Mike wrestle with his feelings. Finally, though, he touched Mike’s knee to get his attention.

"Perhaps meeting with Stephen is what you need most right now, to see what sort of man he is, not just when he's in control, but when he is facing the very real possibility of having everything taken away from him."

Mike thought about that. He acknowledged to himself that he was afraid. Afraid of Stephen, yes, and what revenge he might wish to take on Mike. He'd had all the experience he'd needed with anger and disappointment lately. Harvey had seen to that. But the thought of never seeing Stephen again, of having him be swallowed up into the justice system, and then the prison system...well, that didn't seem like a healthy way to handle things. So Mike nodded slowly, even as fear gripped him and damaged the nice mellow high he'd had going, transforming it to paranoia. "I'll see him," he finally said. "But I want you there the whole time."

Edward seemed surprised, as if he hadn't really expected Mike to agree, or to agree so readily. "All right," he said. "Finish your coffee and put on some clothes. I'll call Stephen and let him know that we're on our way.”

When Mike returned to the living room ten minutes later, he was not surprised to discover that the drugs and alcohol had disappeared. He didn't blame Edward, but anxiety joined his paranoia, and he could only hope that he could keep it together for the upcoming meeting. Luckily, he’d managed to palm one of the Xanax earlier, and had swallowed it while he dressed.

******

The ride to the Ritz-Carlton in Edward’s car was a confused blur that Mike would never clearly remember afterwards. He drifted in and out of sleep, snuggling against Edward in the back seat while the driver navigated through snarled traffic. He’d gone completely under when he felt a hand slapping his face lightly. “Come on Mike. Wake up for me now.”

Mike’s eyes snapped open. Where was he? Edward’s face came into focus and Mike smiled at him and tried to climb into his lap to give him a kiss, but the other man fended him off, holding him against the seat with a surprisingly strong grip on his upper arms.

“Behave yourself,” said Edward, voice tart and exasperated. Mike could barely hold back a giggle.

The room lurched forward and stopped, and Mike remembered that he was in a car.

“Where we going?” he slurred.

“Oh, sweetheart,” said Edward, and he sounded so disappointed that Mike sat up straighter, shook his head to clear it, and forced his eyes wide open, since they seemed determined to flutter closed again. “We’ve arrived at the hotel. You’ve agreed to see Stephen, remember?”

He did not remember, could scarcely believe he would have consented to that, but he nodded agreeably, as if he thought it was the best idea in the world. “What are we waiting for?” He reached for the door handle, tried to open the door, but his hand would not cooperate.

“Just wait right there,” Edward ordered, and then he was gone.

Mike’s brain took this as the signal to fall asleep again. He leaned his head against the window, but the door opened so suddenly that he fell through it and would have hit the sidewalk except that both Edward and his driver managed to catch him and lift him onto his feet.

“Whoa. Okay. That was surprising.” He reared back from the fingers being snapped in front of his face. “Calm it down, snappy fingers.”

“Are you going to make it, Mike? We just have to walk through that door over there, across the lobby, and get on the elevator. Can you manage that?”

The door Edward had indicated looked miles away, but Mike wanted to wipe the disappointment from Edward’s face, so he nodded, resolute. The cool air on his face helped somewhat, and with Edward’s support, he took one wobbly step after another until they made it through a door held open by a smirking doorman.

Luckily, they didn’t have to wait long for an elevator to arrive. Inside the elevator, Mike sank to the floor and sat with his head in his hands, trying to talk the world out of spinning around and around. Too soon, they reached Edward’s floor. Mike was prepared to crawl out of the elevator on his hands and knees, but Edward got a hand under one arm and hauled him to his feet. Together, they staggered the few yards from the elevator to the door of the suite. Edward pinned Mike to the wall with one hand while he worked the key card with the other. When the door finally opened, he dragged Mike inside and aimed him toward the loveseat with a terse, “Sit.”

Mike sat, rocked for a second, stabilized, and looked around. The lights were all off in the living room, except for one small lamp in the corner. Other than that, it looked just as he remembered it. He tipped slowly over until he was lying on his side, deciding that a nap sounded like a splendid idea.

"Stephen," he heard Edward call softly. "I've found him, but I’m not sure how receptive he’ll be at the moment."

Oh right. Stephen. Mike had agreed to see Stephen. Stephen the liar.   Stephen the killer. He wrestled himself back into a seated position and braced himself for Stephen’s expected fury.

The door to Stephen's bedroom opened, and Mike's breath caught in his throat. Stephen Huntley looked as if he had aged a decade in the space of only a few days. The sparkle that had seemed ever present in his eyes was gone, and he sported a fresh cut high on one bruised check. He wore a pair of well-worn jeans, and nothing else. As he walked into the living room, gaze moving past Edward to fall squarely on Mike, some intense emotion flared in his pale eyes and just as quickly vanished. Mike dropped his own eyes, noting Stephen's pale torso, and the scattering of freckles which somehow made him seem younger and more vulnerable.

"Mike," said Stephen, as if greeting a casual acquaintance.

Mike's mind stuttered over all of the words he could say, should say, wanted to say, and didn't dare. He finally settled on, "Hi."

"I'm glad you agreed to see me," said Stephen. He went straight to the bar and poured himself a large drink, not bothering to ask if either of them would like anything. Then he dropped into an armchair, posture slumping uncharacteristically. “Also, a little surprised. Please don't tell me you've come merely to gloat."

Mike frowned. "Gloat? No. Of course not. I came because...I guess because I'm so fucking sorry. And I just wanted to say...to say...." His mind blanked out. What had he come to say?

Edward sat on the loveseat next to Mike. "It's all right Mike. As I hope I've made clear, you didn't do anything wrong. You're here so you can listen to what Stephen has to say. Mike? Are you with me?"

After a short hesitation, Mike nodded. Seeing Stephen hadn’t miraculously sobered him up, but the spike of adrenaline through his system at least pulled him back from any immediate danger of passing out.

Stephen took a long pull from his drink and eyed Mike and Darby. "All right," he said, "Mike, I wanted to explain myself to you. Edward feels I should be completely honest with you, and that’s what I’m prepared to do. So, in that spirit, the first thing you need to know is that when I initially approached you, my intention was to use you against Harvey. Rumor had it that you two had once been close--"

"Rumor?" Mike interrupted. "Let me guess. Scottie."

"Yes. That one definitely does not care for you. She doesn't think much of me either, but that's another story."

"Well, good job. You've completely destroyed any relationship that Harvey and I might have had at some point in the future, working or otherwise. Not that…I mean – " Mike snapped his mouth shut.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"I trusted you," Mike said.

"I haven't harmed you, have I?"

"You...you...." He was certain he had a grievance of some sort, if only he could articulate it.

"I did only what you gave me permission to do, Mike. And you were...much more than I could have hoped for. What I regret, almost more than being caught, or the possibility of jail, is what could have been between us."

Mike wasn't sure he was hearing correctly, or if he could allow himself to believe it. He stared at Stephen's hard, flat gaze, trying to see past it. "Are you saying that you were serious? About wanting me in London?"

"Yes." Stephen stared into his glass. "And you. I wanted you. You're exactly what I've been looking for, Mike. I had a taste of you, but that only left me wanting more. I had plans for you, you see."

"Plans?"

"Yes. In you I saw someone I could train to be my perfect sub, because it’s instinctive and innate in you, the desire to please, and to submit."

Mike wanted to deny it, to argue with Stephen, but his mind had snagged on one word. "Sub." Mike had heard the term before, and had a vague impression of what it meant, but it had never entered his consciousness as something he might wish for himself.

"Yeah," Stephen said, voice rueful. "You were damn near perfect that night." He shrugged. "Edward is convinced I'm going to end up behind bars. I'm not quite as defeatist as he is, or as resigned to it. I'm going to fight whatever charges they throw at me. And maybe I'll win." He shrugged again. "Maybe I won't. But whatever happens, I don't want you feeling guilty about this, and I don’t want your pity. Feel free to be angry with me, but none of this is your fault. You did what you had to do. If you had done anything else, I would be disappointed in you."

Mike let all of that sink in. "There's one thing I'm curious about," he said carefully.

"Just one?" There it was...that mischievous smile that made Mike’s insides flutter, even now. He realized that he'd started to miss it already.

Mike blinked, trying to remain focused on the conversation. "You made it so easy for me. To catch you, I mean. Why the fuck did you leave that file in your New York office? Why did you leave the keys right there, where anyone would see them? Why not lock all that damning evidence up somewhere safer? Back in London, or with you, where you could have kept an eye on it. Or you could have shredded it all."

Stephen was regarding him gravely and Edward's hand had landed on his leg, offering support.

"Are you asking if I wanted to get caught? I'm afraid I'm not so noble, or so complicated. Honestly? I never believed that you, or anyone else for that matter, would look there. I underestimated you, and that’s on me."

With that, there didn't seem to be any more to say. Mike couldn't claim to have reached anything approaching closure, but at least he felt marginally less humiliated and used. Stephen’s admission, which sounded sincere, was enough to soothe his wounded ego. Mike let out a slow breath, and felt his eyelids drooping again. The Xanax, or the Vicodin, or the combination of them, seemed to be hitting him full force all at once, colliding in his bloodstream and his brain, and the world began fading at the edges.

He stood up. "I'm gonna take off," he meant to say, but when he tried to move, his feet got tangled together and he pitched forward, hearing a crash, and feeling a dull pain bloom in his arm as he struck the ground.

“Fucking hell,” came Stephen’s accusatory voice, sounding distant and muffled. “Is he drunk?”

Gentle hands turned him and probed his face and arm for injuries.

“I took this away from him,” he heard Edward say, and Mike imagined him showing Stephen the pot and pills. “He must have taken more than I realized before I arrived.”

“Shit. Is he okay? Do you think he needs a doctor?”

“I don’t think so. Here’s his phone. See if you can find an emergency contact.”

Mike felt so heavy, and so tired, like he was buried under a mountain of sand, but he managed to crack an eye open to see the two men kneeling next to him. “I’m okay,” he tried to tell them, but couldn’t get his lips and tongue and teeth to work. He gave up the fight then, sinking down towards the welcome of oblivion. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the last words he heard were, _no family… all work… just call Harvey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was a tough chapter to write. I hope I managed to smooth out all the rough edges. If not, feel free to mock me in the comments.
> 
> I predict that the next chapter will be finished this weekend. And if anyone is wondering about my other two stories, the final chapter of Spin of a Coin is coming along, if slowly, and Art of Memory is sitting in the corner and staring accusingly at me. It's all very terrifying, but I promise that I finish everything I start.
> 
> Oh, and season 4? It's killing me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the lovely comments!

_“You should leave.”_

_“Why? Are you planning to take another swing at me?”_

_"Don't give me a reason to, and I won't."_

_"Gentlemen, let's keep our voices down, shall we?"_

Mike rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. His limbs felt heavy and useless. With an effort, he raised his head and looked around, observing that he was in a bedroom that seemed vaguely familiar. It was dark, lights turned off and curtains drawn, although he would have bet that it was night time. The door was open just a crack, and a sliver of light fell across the floral patterned carpet. The voices in the next room grew quieter, but even to Mike’s fuzzy brain, it sounded as if a hushed, vicious argument was in progress. Deciding that he was too tired to care, he let sleep drag him back down into darkness.

 

An unknown amount of time later, Mike surfaced again, coming awake enough to hear someone enter the room and pause. He kept his eyes shut, playing possum. Footsteps paced near the bed. Someone sighed.

"Mike.” The low voice sounded a lot like Harvey.

Surprised, Mike opened his eyes, squinting against the sudden light when a lamp came on next to the bed. It was Harvey, but Mike couldn’t remember where he was, much less what Harvey was doing there. “Harvey?” he croaked. “What’s going on?”

“How are you feeling?”

"I'm not sure. Where…?”

“You don’t remember? You’re in Huntley’s bed at the Ritz.”

“Oh.” _Shit._ He struggled to recall how he’d ended up there. Confusing images swam through his mind of Edward visiting his apartment, of Mike climbing into his lap. Twice. He groaned. The last thing he remembered clearly was chasing a Vicodin with a swig of vodka. The last thing he remembered at all was nearly passing out in an elevator. Had he and Stephen….or had it been Edward? He groaned again, regretting every single decision he’d made in the last…week? Month?

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked Harvey.

Harvey stepped closer to the bed. Mike could see now how tense he was, and how closed off his expression. "Me? I got a panicked call from your boyfriend, telling me you had suffered from a case of the vapors or some such bullshit, so of course I dropped everything to run over here and hover at your bedside."

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Mike still wasn’t completely sure if Harvey meant Stephen or Edward, but it seemed important to clear up that point.

Some of the tension in Harvey’s face relaxed at Mike’s assertion. “Well, he sounded pretty panicked, regardless. Both he and Darby were worried when you collapsed.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘passed out from all the drugs?’?” Mike muttered.

“Ah. Well, they told me they weren’t sure what had happened. They didn’t know who your emergency contact was, so I got the call. They thought I might know whether or not you had allergies, or if you suffered from any other conditions that I was aware of.”

“Okay. And what did you tell them?”

“Just that you have an annoying tendency to do incredibly stupid shit when you become emotional.”

Mike let that sink in. There wasn’t much he could say in his own defense. “Are they still here? Stephen and Edward?”

Harvey gave him a bleak smile and stuck his hands in his pockets. He was still wearing his work clothes, although his jacket was off and his tie loosened. “Darby seemed to think Huntley and I might go for round two if we stayed in the same room together for too long, so he dragged him out of here for a late dinner.

“Late? What time is it?”

Harvey glanced at his watch. “Almost ten thirty.”

“Fuck.” Mike put a hand to his head and stared at the ceiling. “I am such an idiot.”

“Yep. Seriously, though, how are you feeling?”

“Like I was run over by a truck.” He struggled into a sitting position, leaning against the small mountain of pillows at his back. That’s when he realized that he was naked, except for his boxer briefs. Not wanting to dwell on how that had happened, he moved one of the pillows to his front, hugging it to his chest, as if that would protect him from Harvey’s scorn. Wishing to divert the conversation from him and his idiocy, he asked, “How’s your hand?”

Harvey gave a humorless huff of laughter. “I’ve had worse.”

“Why did you do it?” Harvey’s only response was a flat stare, so Mike clarified, “Why did you go after Stephen like that?”

Harvey scowled, but then a reluctant smile quirked one side of his mouth. “Because I have an annoying tendency to do incredibly stupid shit when I become emotional.”

That gave Mike pause. Harvey didn’t do emotions, not where work was concerned, at least that’s what he’d always wanted Mike to believe. He tried to get his sluggish brain to formulate the question he needed to ask. “Was it…did you punch him because of me?”

Raising his eyebrows, Harvey asked, “You think I was defending your honor?”

_What honor?_ “Were you?”

Harvey sighed and dropped into a wingback chair which faced the bed. “At the time, it seemed pretty clear that Stephen had used you to get to me, to keep close enough to the case so he could hide any evidence any of us might uncover. It pissed me off.”

“And it kind of back-fired on him.”

“Yes. But now I find you here, and I’m left wondering how involved you are.”

“If you’re suggesting I knew anything about Moriga and the murders….”

“I’m not. I’m just unclear as to how entangled you actually are with Huntley. Personally.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “I told you. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“So you say.” Harvey looked away, cheek muscle jumping.

“Yes. I did. So why do you even care what we were? It’s over. I ended it when I went to Donna and handed over that file.”

“It upset you, though, turning him in. Your behavior today proves that.”

Mike growled, frustrated. He shoved the covers aside and scooted to the edge of the bed. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my clothes?”

Harvey nodded towards a low dresser, and Mike saw his clothes folded neatly on top of it. He’d had enough of this conversation, he decided. He stood up, ignoring the way his vision faded out and back in again, and went to get dressed.

Harvey, on the other hand, evidently was not done prying into Mike’s love life. “Was he important to you?” he asked.

That was too much, and Mike whirled toward Harvey, growing lightheaded and needing to brace one hand against the dresser for support. “Was he important to me? You’re damn right he was. Do you want to know why he was so important to me? Because you fucking abandoned me. You left me twisting in the wind, and he was all I had.”

“Mike….”

“No. Don’t even say it. I’ve heard enough about how I betrayed you. I get it. I made a mistake. But I was afraid of ending up in jail, and I caved to Jessica, who, in case you haven’t noticed, is a fucking terrifying woman. I’ve apologized to you in every single way I can think of and – ” Here, he had to pause to get control of his voice, which had started to crack. “And…and… _goddamn it,_ Harvey. You should have forgiven me. Why couldn’t you bend that stiff fucking neck of yours just a little and acknowledge the impossible position I was in?”

He piled his clothes in his arms and went back to sit on the bed. All of the energy expended to stand up and retrieve his clothes had drained him. “You should have forgiven me.”

Harvey pressed his lips together and looked away. “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t I? I know about how your mother betrayed your father. I know that Scottie did the same thing to you – twice. I’m sorry that those things happened to you, but you need to get over it. Get over yourself. It makes you weak.”

Dark eyes, nearly black, seemed to displace the air in the room as Harvey’s gaze shifted back to Mike. “Excuse me?”

Mike swallowed, wishing for a glass of water. “It’s a vulnerability. Stephen used it against you.”

“No,” Harvey said slowly, “that’s not what Stephen used against me.” Before Mike could make out what he meant, Harvey stood up. “Get dressed. I’ll take you home.” He started to leave the room.

Mike surged to his feet, ignoring the clothes as they fell to the floor. With long strides, he followed Harvey into the living room. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“I am.”

At Harvey’s blunt dismissal, humiliating tears filled his eyes, threatening to overflow. “So, what now? We go back to you ignoring me? That leaves me with no one and nothing. What the hell do you expect me to do?”

Harvey smiled thinly. “It seems you’ve gained quite the fan in Edward Darby. He had a message for you. Said if things don’t work out for you in New York, there, and I quote, ‘will always be a place for you in London.’ As what, he didn’t specify, but maybe you should take him up on that.”

A rush of air left Mike’s lungs. He knew in that moment, with absolute clarity, that he didn’t want Edward, and he didn’t want Stephen. What he wanted was standing right in front of him, regarding him as if he were a piece of filth that had adhered itself to the bottom of his shoe. And maybe he was. He’d fucked this all up so badly.

Without making a conscious decision, Mike dropped to his knees at Harvey’s feet. His knees throbbed with the suddenness of his descent, but he’d gotten Harvey’s attention. “Mike. Don’t….”

“Why not? I thought I’d done everything I could to plead my case, but maybe what you really need me to do is actually, literally plead.” He couldn’t hold Harvey’s shocked gaze, so he let his own slide to the floor. “Please,” he said, voice breaking. “I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me. Tell me what to do.” Harvey’s silence was deafening. Mike closed his eyes. “Maybe you should punish me,” he whispered. “Hurt me.” He licked his lips. “Beat me so hard you leave bruises.”

He waited, but the only sound he heard after a few minutes was the whisper of fabric, and then Harvey’s quiet, toneless voice. “I’m leaving you money for cab fare. You should go home. Take the day off tomorrow.”

And then the door thudded shut behind him and Mike was alone. Again.

 

When Wednesday arrived, Mike solemnly vowed to himself not to repeat the mistakes of Tuesday. He didn’t have any betrayals on his schedule, so that part was easy enough. The thought of ingesting anything more mind-altering than coffee held no appeal. When he dragged himself out of bed at ten in the morning, he showered, got dressed and walked two blocks to a coffee shop that served a full breakfast. He forced himself to eat eggs and hash browns and toast and fruit. When he finished there, he went home, but not before taking a detour to a small grocery store where he stocked up on healthy food choices. It seemed as if someone had recently suggested that to him, but he couldn’t recall who. He did know he couldn’t possibly hope to get his head on straight while trying to subsist on a diet of stale cheese doodles and ice cream.

With the groceries put away, he lay on the couch with his computer propped on his chest, earbuds in, listening to random music on Pandora. While he listened, he thought.

First, he exercised his mind trying to reconstruct the events of the previous day. Most of it still remained a blur, but he was able to recall parts of the meeting with Stephen, where he’d admitted to using Mike, but also to wishing he could…train him? Mike closed his eyes, struggling to bring up the words Stephen had used. He’d called him perfect. _Yeah, right._ He’d said Mike had an instinctive need to please. And to submit.

He shivered, remembering how it had been that night with Stephen. Yes. He’d liked that.

And then he pictured himself as he’d been last night, kneeling in front of Harvey, begging for him to hurt him. To forgive him.

To hurt him.

He chewed on his lip, tapping his fingers on the touchpad in time to the music plugged into his ears. Trying not to think too closely about what he was doing, Mike opened a new browser window, brought up Google, typed in “BDSM,” hit enter, and started reading.

 

Hours later, when his eyes began to feel like sandpaper and his dick had been hard for so long that he wondered if he needed to seek medical attention, Mike pulled out his earbuds, set his laptop on the coffee table and stared up at the ceiling, letting out a long breath.

Absently, he popped the top button on his jeans, unzipped and touched himself through his briefs, running his fingers lightly up and down his hard length. His other hand crept underneath his t-shirt to toy with a nipple. He flicked it with his thumb, rolled it between thumb and forefinger, and then pinched it firmly, ramping up the pressure on it until he gasped and arched up. The hand which had been teasing his cock plunged inside his underwear and he began jerking off, even as he continued to torture his nipple.

“Shit,” he panted. “Yeah. Come on.” He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining himself as he’d been that night with Stephen, cuffed and tied, blindfolded and gagged. It wasn’t Stephen, though, with his fingers inside of Mike, opening him up, wasn’t Stephen fucking him with the dildo, or spanking his ass with a paddle. “Yeah, Harvey,” he urged breathlessly, “that’s it. Harder.” Eyes still shut, he rolled over and rose to his hands and knees, shoving pants and briefs to his thighs, pushing his ass out as he continued to stroke his cock.

He wrestled with his sense memory, trying to imagine, to _believe_ he could feel Harvey’s open palm on his vulnerable flesh, slapping down again and again, while all he could do was just take it. It wasn’t enough, though, and he cried out in frustration. His hand moved almost mechanically, and it was several long minutes more until he managed to send himself over the edge. He felt like he’d run for miles, and flopped over onto his back, striving to catch his breath, and wondering why he still felt so dissatisfied.

He pulled off his t-shirt and used it to clean himself off. The room grew darker as evening arrived. Finally, Mike got up to throw his shirt into the laundry basket, washed his hands, and wandered into the kitchen, determined to last at least one full day eating satisfying meals. He had his head inside the refrigerator, trying to decide which cut of meat to ruin with his horrible cooking skills, when someone knocked on his door.

He padded barefoot to the door, shirtless, with his jeans still half undone. A check through the peephole showed Harvey in the hallway, still dressed in suit and tie, looking impatient and pissed off. “Damn it,” Mike muttered, “how do these people keep getting into the building?”

He rested his hand on the doorknob, reluctant to turn it.

“Open up, Mike,” Harvey said. “I can hear you breathing.”

Mike pulled the door wide open and turned his back, returning to the kitchen. He resumed his perusal of his dinner choices, and heard the door click shut. He refused to turn around. More accurately, he simply could not face Harvey after yesterday. He poked at a package of ground turkey, wondering what he could make out of it. Maybe he should just toss it in the freezer and figure it out later. He put it back in the refrigerator. Next, he pulled out the steak he had spent too much on and stared at it blankly.

“Well,” Mike said to the steak, “aren’t you going to say something?”

Neither Harvey nor the steak answered him, so Mike steeled himself, turned around, and forgot whatever it was he’d meant to say. Harvey stood next to the couch, holding Mike’s laptop, and studying the image that Mike had left up, of a naked young man bound and gagged, his freshly spanked butt bright red. “That’s. I don’t. You can’t just.” Dropping the steak to the floor, he sprang forward and grabbed the laptop away from Harvey, slamming it shut with so much force he could only hope he hadn’t cracked the screen.

Harvey, damn him, appeared perfectly at ease, even amused, as he regarded Mike. “That’s what you want from me?” he asked. His gaze moved from Mike’s face, down to his naked torso and unfastened jeans.

“No,” Mike snapped. “Not from you.”

“That’s not what you told me yesterday.” He took a step towards Mike. Mike took a step back.

“That was yesterday. And today, there’s this leaf, you see. A new one. Completely new. And I’ve turned it over.” He was babbling – and blatantly lying – but after Harvey’s cool dismissal of his offer at the Ritz-Carlton, Mike wasn’t in the mood to be agreeable. “And today…today….”

His brain short-circuited when Harvey pulled the laptop from his grasp and set it back on the table, and then stepped right up to Mike and let one finger trail down his chest.

“And today,” Harvey finished for him, “you’ve been looking at dirty pictures on the internet, thinking of me, and touching yourself.” He shook his head at Mike’s indignant squawk of denial. “Don’t. I can smell it on you.” He grabbed the top band of Mike’s briefs and let the back of his hand brush over Mike’s lower belly. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

Mike shook his head. “No.” Harvey lay his other hand on the side of Mike’s neck. “I quit,” Mike surprised himself by saying. “I resign, effective im-immediately, and you should go away.”

Harvey palmed Mike’s limp cock and stroked the head with his thumb. “I reject your resignation. You don’t leave until I tell you that you can go. You do what I tell you to do. And right now, I want to hear, in as much detail as you can manage, what filthy little fantasy got you all hot and bothered earlier.”

Mike’s cock was responding to Harvey’s touch, and to his words as well. Mike swallowed noisily. He didn’t want to answer, but couldn’t seem to help himself. “I…I was like in the picture. Tied up. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t see. And I couldn’t speak. And you.” He closed his eyes and leaned into Harvey’s touch. “You were touching me. Your fingers were fucking me open. But…but mostly you were spanking me. You just kept going, and wouldn’t let up, and I….”

“You what, Mike? What were you doing?”

“I was wishing,” Mike whispered. “I was wishing so hard that it was real.” His whole body was warm, but it grew worse when Harvey let him go and stepped away. He felt like he was on fire with the humiliation of this new rejection. He opened his eyes to find that Harvey had retreated to the couch and was sitting watching him with a polite expression, as if waiting for him to pull himself together. Mike wasn’t sure if that was possible – if it would ever be possible.

“Do you know what I was doing this afternoon, Mike?”

Startled by the change in conversation, Mike shook his head no.

“Jessica called an emergency partner’s meeting. After an astonishingly short debate, we voted to dissolve Pearson Darby.”

Mike wasn’t surprised by the news, so he shrugged. “And? Did you get your name on the door?”

As if he couldn’t help himself, Harvey broke into a grin. “Yeah. The new firm’s name is Pearson Specter. Pretty cool, huh? Donna has Louis on suicide watch.”

Mike crossed his arms over his chest, excruciatingly self-conscious. Had he really just verbalized his beat-off fantasies to Harvey Specter? He cleared his throat. “Well. Congratulations. You deserve it.” They were both silent for a minute or so. “Why did you come here?” Mike asked.

“Hm. Well, to gloat, first and foremost.”

“Of course.”

Harvey seemed to prod one of his molars with his tongue. “And also, to tell you that I’m sorry.”

“Oh my God, the apocalypse is nigh.”

“Ha ha.” Harvey fiddled with the crease in his trousers. “You expressed your anger rather eloquently yesterday. I’m not saying I agree with your actions, but I’m willing to admit that perhaps I became too entrenched in my….”

“Dickishness?” Mike supplied helpfully.

“That’s not what I was going to say, but okay, let’s go with that. I punished you past the point that I should have. Having given things some serious thought, I’m prepared to move on, and I would like you back as my associate.”

Mike’s first and strongest instinct was to hold onto his grudge, to hug it tight and air his grievances all over again, complete with gnashing of teeth, tearing of hair, and beating of chest. It was an effort to let go of all that. _You got what you wanted, dummy,_ he lectured himself. _At least part of it._ He took a few cleansing breaths. “I would like that, too. Except….”

Harvey waited, and when Mike didn’t continue, prompted, “Except what?”

“What about the other stuff? Do we just ignore it? Not make eye contact for a while? What?”

Harvey was quiet for so long that Mike began to fidget. Finally, though, he said, “I was going to ignore it, Mike. I was going to come over here, give you my news, make my apology, and pretend that last night you were still suffering from an unfortunate combination of chemicals in your system and didn’t know what you were saying. Because at the time, I didn’t get it. I thought you were asking for the sort of beat down that I gave Huntley. Sort of a ‘give me your best shot so we can move on’ type of thing, combined with your own unique style of theatrics.” He leaned forward and tapped the closed lid of the laptop. “But then I saw this, and it suddenly all made sense.”

“Uh. It did?”

Harvey’s tongue went back to work on his tooth. He grimaced, and when he spoke, he seemed to have to force the words out. “What you’re asking for, did you get that from Stephen?”

“Just…” Mike stopped to swallow, working moisture back into his mouth. “Just a taste. One night. Not nearly enough.”

“I see.”

Harvey appeared to be thinking it over, and Mike didn’t dare speak, barely dared to breathe for fear of negatively influencing whatever decision Harvey was on the verge of making.

“You do need someone,” Harvey finally said, “to take you in hand and keep you in line. You proved that with your reckless behavior yesterday.”

Mike nodded his agreement. “I am reckless. And given to enthusiasms.”

Harvey held out a hand, and Mike moved hesitantly forward. “Enthusiasm isn’t necessarily a bad trait.” He held Mike’s wrist, eyeing him speculatively. “You looked good on your knees.” He stroked his thumb over the knob of Mike’s wrist bone. “So…kneel.”

Harvey’s tone was light, almost casual, but Mike heard the command beneath it. A thrill of relief and recognition shivered up his spine. He slid to his knees, careful this time not to land too hard. His heart began a rapid, steady thud beneath his ribs, which seemed to shake his entire body when Harvey’s hand settled on his head.

Mike wanted to lay his head on Harvey’s knee, to shut his eyes and just breathe in the scent of him. He looked up, though, met Harvey’s eyes, and he couldn’t speak, but he did his best to tell Harvey how he felt in that moment, pouring all of his adoration into his expression, letting it shine in his eyes.

He wouldn’t have blamed Harvey it he had cringed or flinched at the raw emotion on Mike’s face, but he accepted it, with only a small smile tugging at one side of his mouth.

“We,” said Harvey, “are going to have rules.”

Mike unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and forced himself to speak. “I know. I’ve been reading. There are websites…you wouldn’t believe how many. I can give you – ”

“Mike. I’ve got this.”

“You do? You mean…?”

“Yes.” Harvey gave him his smuggest smile. “Stephen may have been the British Harvey.” Here, he paused to roll his eyes. “But I’m the Original Harvey, and I’m going to make you forget all about that cheap imitation. Now, I assume you know about safe words?”

Mike nodded. “I didn’t use one with Stephen, but I’ve been reading – ”

A grunt of disgust from Harvey. “I’m even happier now that I punched him.”

Mike remembered the rubber ball, and thought about mentioning it, but decided that it probably wouldn’t improve Harvey’s opinion of Stephen.

“With me,” Harvey was saying, “you’ll have two safe words. One for when we’re involved in a scene. And one for work.”

Mike wrinkled his brow and stifled a laugh. “For work? Shouldn’t we keep things professional there, especially now that you’re a named partner?”

“One for work,” Harvey repeated sternly, “so that the next time I go overboard in punishing you, you’ll have a way of telling me without all of the added drama. Use it sparingly, but use it if it becomes necessary. Got it?”

Mike nodded his understanding.

“Good.”

Harvey stood up. “I’m going home now. No, don’t give me the big sad eyes. If we do this, we’re going to do it right. Rules, remember? We both need to draw up a list of our hard and soft limits.” He waved dismissively at the laptop. “Consult your beloved Google if you need clarification on that. I know you’re new to this.” He paused. “You are new to this, correct?”

Still on his knees, Mike nodded vigorously. “Practically a virgin.”

“Doubtful.”

“No, I mean, I’ve had sex, and plenty of it. But I thought you meant – ”

“I did. Never mind. Are you free this weekend?”

“That depends on my boss. But no, nothing planned.”

“Good. Come to my place at 7:00. We’ll have dinner and then hammer out a contract.” Harvey’s hand was on the doorknob.

“Contract?”

“Google it.” And then he was out the door and gone.

“Google it,” Mike repeated to the empty air, voice snide. He shifted off of his knees and sat right where he was on the floor, trying to wrap his brain around what had just happened. He ended up laughing helplessly, perhaps with a hint of hysteria. When he got control of himself he lay on his back, staring up at the cracks in his ceiling. “Harvey Fucking Specter,” he muttered. “This has got to be the first date I’ve ever made that came with a homework assignment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of a natural stopping point, and I could end the story here...but it doesn't seem right to not give my OTP the chance to get their smut on. So, one more chapter to go. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

“Holy crap. Harvey Specter has a dungeon.” At the end of the hall in Harvey’s condo, behind the locked door that Mike had assumed contained storage space, lay a surprisingly large room fitted out with furniture and equipment that Mike recognized from his online research. Floor to ceiling, darkly tinted windows lined one wall, and the hardwood floors were stained dark brown. In contrast, the walls had been painted light taupe. Black and white framed photographs hung on the walls, depicting men and women in various, artfully posed scenes of bondage. One corner held a sleek, black modern looking armoire, next to a king size bed.

Harvey’s hand touched the small of his back, urging him further into the room. “Play room, not dungeon.”

Mike walked past the St. Andrew’s cross, the sling, and the intriguing pulleys and chains hung at varying lengths from heavy-duty D-rings bolted to the ceiling, trying but probably failing to keep his mouth from hanging open. He zeroed in on one item, making straight for it. “That’s a spanking bench,” he pointed out unnecessarily.

“The room’s not finished,” Harvey said. “And to be honest, I haven’t spent any time in here for almost a year. Don’t give me that look. Just…the person I was creating it for turned out to be a disappointment, and then I never seemed to have the time to devote to finding someone new. After you and I signed the contract, I dusted and made sure everything is still in working order.”

Ah, yes. The contract. One measly month, which is all Harvey would agree to. Subsequent agreements, he’d assured Mike, would be longer, assuming they both wished to continue.

“ _You_ dusted?” Mike’s disbelief was clear in his voice.

“I didn’t want to freak out the cleaning lady.” When Mike had finished laughing, Harvey continued. “Take a few minutes to look around, but don’t touch anything. This, right now, will be the only time you’re allowed in here with clothes on. During the time we spend in here, you exist for one reason: to please me. When we’re in this room, I own you.”

Mike’s cock seemed to like that idea just fine.

Harvey stepped up to Mike and palmed him through his jeans. “This belongs to me.” He leaned in for a slow, dirty kiss. “And this.” He cupped Mike’s ass with both hands and pulled him closer. “This. And this.” He tapped Mike’s forehead with one finger. “All mine in this room. Understood?”

Mike was breathing with difficulty when Harvey let him go. “Yes sir.” The words slipped out without a conscious decision, as if his mouth and tongue and teeth and lips and diaphragm had all been waiting for the opportunity to form them. It didn’t escape his notice that Harvey hadn’t included Mike’s chest, where his heart resided, in his inventory of ownership. He also couldn’t help wonder at the identity of the previous “disappointment.” He kept those thoughts to himself.

“As we discussed last Saturday,” Harvey was saying, “trust and honesty are essential in order to make this work. If you have doubts or concerns about anything I do or say, you need to communicate that to me. I will, of course, do the same.”

Mike nodded, but half of his attention remained focused on the spanking bench. Having already forgotten Harvey’s instruction not to touch anything, he ran a hand over the smooth leather, tested one of the adjustable pads on the side, checked underneath to judge how sturdy it was.

“Mike?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have any questions for me before we get started?”

Mike glanced over his shoulder at Harvey, who was wearing a stern expression. “Yeah. Can I get on this thing and try it out?” He already had one knee up on a pad.

A heavy, “lord, give me strength” sigh emanated from Harvey. “No. You can’t. Anything else?”

Mike removed his knee and moved away from the bench. “No sir.” He tried not to fidget while Harvey eyed him up and down.

“You cleaned yourself like I asked?”

Mike nodded, striving not to blush as he remembered the enema Harvey had insisted upon.

“When I ask you a direct question, I’d like you to answer out loud.”

“Yes sir.”

“All right. Good. Go get undressed in the spare bedroom and leave your clothes folded neatly on the chair in there. Then return here and kneel, just as I showed you last Saturday.”

“Yes sir,” Mike repeated. With difficulty, he kept to a semi-dignified pace as he left the room, but as soon as he reached the spare bedroom two doors down, he shimmied out of his clothes as quickly as he could, folded them, frowned at the result, and refolded them using extra care to get them into a tidier pile. Several calming breaths later, he walked back into the play room. At the moment, it was empty.

Harvey hadn’t specified where he should kneel, so Mike moved as close to the spanking bench as he could without appearing too eager. It was close enough that he could smell the leather. He inhaled deeply, growing harder as the rich scent filled his nostrils. He heard Harvey’s footsteps approaching, so he straightened his spine, settled his hands behind his back, one hand holding the other wrist, and kept his gaze lowered and unfocused. Now that he was here, now that this was happening, nerves made him tremble. He hoped that Harvey wouldn’t be disappointed by what he saw.

“Look at me, boy.”

Mike looked up. Harvey still wore jeans and a black, long-sleeved t-shirt. His feet were bare, and he held two bottles of water, which he set on a small table near the door.

“Who do you belong to?”

“To you, sir.”

Harvey walked slowly around him, touching his shoulders and head and back. Mike tamped down a sudden urge to bend down and kiss Harvey’s feet. _Where the hell had that come from?_

“Very nice,” Harvey said.

Warmth and happiness flooded Mike, constricting his chest. He forced himself to continue to breathe evenly.

“Tell me your safe word.”

“Scorsese.”

“And your word if we need to slow down?”

“Spielberg.”

“Good. Since this will be our first scene together, we’ll start on some pain training and get to know your limits.” He walked behind Mike, who forced himself to keep his gaze to the front. “You seem fixated on my spanking bench.” He dug a hand into Mike’s hair, grasping it and pulling Mike’s head back. Pain spiked through his scalp. “In the future, if I catch you trying to influence me, or steer me in a particular direction, I’ll see to it that you don’t get what you want, and you’ll be punished for it. I decide what you need. Do you understand?”

Chagrin replaced Mike’s happiness. Angry with himself for getting it wrong so soon, he whispered. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

Harvey released him, and petted his head as if to make him forget about the pain. “I’m going to indulge you this one time, however.”

“Thank you, sir.” When Harvey walked back around to his front, Mike gave into to his impulse and bent down to kiss first one bare foot, and then the other.

At Harvey’s quick inhale, he feared he’d made another mistake, but when he straightened up, Harvey only murmured, “Stand up.”

Mike stood, and Harvey led him to the bench, helping him up onto it, and showing how to arrange himself, where to put his knees and his arms. When he had Mike positioned how he wanted him, he used leather straps at wrists and ankles to keep him in place. Bent over the center section with his ass up in the air and his dick bobbing below him, Mike felt exposed and vulnerable. He wondered if Harvey would blindfold or gag him, but he did neither.

He heard Harvey move to the corner where the armoire was located, probably choosing his instrument of choice and whatever supplies he needed. Mike closed his eyes, breathing in and out, attempting to slow his racing heart. He jumped when Harvey touched his hip.

“I’m just going to open you up.” He held an object in front of Mike’s face – a butt plug, Mike realized. “And then this goes in. I’ll warm you up with my hand first, and then I’ll give you a taste of some of my toys, to see how you respond. No need to keep count. This is not punishment. Just feel, and try to stay relaxed. And don’t hold back on you reactions. This room is soundproof, and I want to hear everything. No playacting. Just real, honest reactions. Is all of that clear?”

“Yes sir.” He swallowed noisily, his mind cataloguing the differences between this, with Harvey, and his night with Stephen. He ordered his mind to stop it. Stephen had no place here, now, in this room. “Ah.” He jumped again when Harvey’s wet finger touched his hole. He gave a sigh of pure contentment as the finger breached him and began to slowly, carefully open him up. His already hard cock twitched, leaving a smear of moisture against his lower belly.

Harvey took his time preparing Mike, working him with concentrated patience. When he was three fingers deep in him, massaging his prostate, and Mike was moaning his approval, without warning, Harvey slapped a palm down hard on Mike’s ass.

“Shit,” Mike hissed. “Sorry.”

Harvey spanked him three more times in the same spot, rubbing inside of him at the same time, until Mike was gasping and seeing stars. Harvey eased his fingers out, leaving Mike missing the feeling of fullness. That emptiness didn’t last long, as Harvey inserted the butt plug, working it into Mike with an almost clinical efficiency. When it had settled into place, he twisted it a few times. He didn’t say anything, but Mike could hear his deep, even breathing behind him. Then Harvey’s lube-slick hand reached beneath Mike and stroked his cock several times, causing him to throw his head back and give a long, drawn out groan.

“Th-that. Sir. Gonna come if – ”

“No you’re not,” Harvey said, voice dark and certain. “If I decide you can come, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, you’re not allowed.”

“Yes s-sir.” Mike squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his lip. He knew that. It had been spelled out clearly in their contract.

Harvey continue to stroke him, until seemingly satisfied that Mike had gotten himself under control. The spanking resumed, Harvey’s hand striking him with quick, hard slaps that stung and then began to heat his ass as they continued, steady and unrelenting. Mike held in his cries for as long as he was able, only issuing involuntary grunts when Harvey found a particularly tender spot. He hadn’t been counting, and he lost track of time as the spanking continued. His eyes had been leaking tears for a while when Harvey stopped. Mike found he was breathing hard, as if he’d been running a race.

“Here, lift your head.”

He opened his eyes to find Harvey in front of him holding an opened bottle of water. Mike raised his head up and drank greedily when Harvey held the bottle to his lips. “Thank you sir,” he rasped, and then drank again, while Harvey ran his other hand up and down Mike’s damp back.

Harvey moved out of his line of vision, but returned seconds later, holding a thick leather strap attached to a handle. “This is a double strap. A little more intense than my hand. What is your safe word?”

“Scorsese.” It surprised him when the word slurred a little coming out.

Harvey eyes him closely. “You doing okay?”

Mike gave a vigorous nod. “Yes sir.”

“What is your word to slow down?”

“Spielberg.” He enunciated the word carefully this time. He must have convinced Harvey that he was all right, because the other man nodded and walked back behind him.

“Relax, baby,” Harvey said softly.

The leather struck Mike’s already throbbing bottom with a loud smack. He could have come just from the sound, but he wanted to be good for Harvey, so he clenched involuntarily against his need. When the strap fell again, he was still tense and it fucking _hurt._ A howl of pain burst from his throat.

Harvey paused, as if waiting for a word from Mike. When none came, he struck again and Mike grunted. Hazily, he noted that his erection had wilted a little. He breathed in and out and told himself to relax. After that, the blows fell in well-spaced, rhythmic slaps, slow and thudding. Mike wasn’t sure when his body began moving into the strikes, anticipating them. He was crying nonstop now, but hardly aware of it.

The blows stopped, and Harvey was there with more water. “You’re doing so well, baby,” he murmured, stroking Mike’s sweaty hair off of his forehead while he drank. “Do you need to take a break?”

Mike shook his head. “No sir,” he managed on a hiccupping sob. “I’d l-like t-to continue. Please.”

Harvey’s expression remained grave and stern, but he nodded and returned to wherever it was that he had laid out his tools. “I’m going to finish with a riding crop. This is going to hurt. I don’t want you holding anything back. Scream as loud as you need to. And if you need to stop, let me know.”

A thin _whish_ and then the crop struck his upper thigh. “Ah!” He arched back as much as his bonds allowed him to. The crop struck again, on his other thigh. Halfway through a strangled sounding gurgle, Mike realized he was holding back, contrary to Harvey’s orders, and he opened his throat on a high-pitched keen. And then the crop was raining flicking stings all over his ass and thighs and lower back. He screamed. And screamed. Somewhere, he heard a voice praising him, telling him how perfect and beautiful he was and he knew it wasn’t true, so he cried in earnest, deep and wrenching sobs that shook his entire body.

Things grew hazy after that. The blows from the riding crop continued, he had no idea for how long. Then the butt plug was removed and Harvey slid right in, fucking him hard and fast. His hand came underneath Mike to stroke him, and when he growled directly into his ear, “Come for me now,” Mike’s body obeyed. He convulsed and shook, making animal noises of joy and pain. Harvey’s mouth sucked at his neck, his hands dug bruises into his hips, and he gave a shout of triumph and Mike felt his hot pulses through the condom as Harvey bit down, sending another jolt through Mike.

Then Mike was just gone for a while, vacant, no one home. He drifted while Harvey pulled out and released him, wrapped a blanket around him, and half-carried him to the bed where he lay him on his stomach, petting his head, kissing his temple, and murmuring praise and assurances that everything would be all right.

Mike began to surface, and realized he was still crying. It felt like he’d been crying for hours. He sniffed and wipe his face.

“Here. Use this.”

Mike squinted up through swollen eyes to see Harvey sitting next to him, handing him a tissue. He took it gratefully and blew his nose, part of him wondering when Harvey had gotten undressed. “God. I’m. Wow.” He couldn’t put what he was feeling into words.

Harvey seemed to understand. “Just stay quiet, Mike. You need to come down a little.” He climbed under the covers with Mike and arranged them so Mike’s head was on his chest, and Harvey’s arms circled Mike’s back, one hand slipping down to cup Mike’s ass, as if seeking the heat there. It still hurt, but also felt good. “We’ll sleep for a bit. After that, I’ll rub something on your ass to reduce the swelling. In the morning, we’ll talk.”

It all sounded good until he got to the “we’ll talk” part. Had Mike screwed up somehow? He was too exhausted right then for his regularly scheduled freak out, though, so he nodded sleepily, burrowed his head into Harvey’s chest, and floated off into sleep.

 

******

 

“Either you’re exceptionally stubborn,” Harvey said, eyeing Mike over the width of the breakfast bar, “or you possess an exceptionally high pain tolerance.”

Mike took a quick sip of coffee. “So what I’m getting from this is that I’m exceptional.” He tried out a smirk, but from the look Harvey was giving him, it wasn’t working.

“Eat your waffle.”

Harvey stared him down until Mike relented and picked up his fork. He’d been hungry until this conversation had begun. Now his stomach felt like it was in knots and churning with acid. He took a miniscule bite and lay his fork down again. “I thought I was submitting. Isn’t that the whole point?”

“Didn’t you listen to a thing I said last night? Specifically, the part about trust and honesty?”

“But I do trust you. I mean, obviously, right?”

Harvey’s mouth tucked in at the corners, are sure sign that he was not pleased. “It goes both ways. I have to trust that you’ll let me know when it’s too much for you.”

Mike bit back the urge to point out that he’d tried that at work, only to have Harvey ignore him for too long. This wasn’t the same. Or maybe this was Harvey showing that he could learn from his own mistakes.

“I understand that,” Mike said slowly. “But I am being completely honest with you right now when I say that it never felt like too much. It felt….” _Like what I was made for._ “It felt amazing. And I could have gone further, taken more from you.” He searched Harvey’s face for some hint of a reaction. “Didn’t you….” He frowned. “Are you disappointed in me?” Tears filled his eyes at the possibility. He took a drink of coffee, attempting to hide his emotions, remembering the other, unnamed someone who hadn’t met Harvey’s expectations.

Harvey grabbed Mike’s free hand, holding it in a tight grip. “No. You were perfect. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. This isn’t criticism. This is me making sure we’re on the same page.” Harvey kept his gaze on their hands as his thumb stroked back and forth over the inside of Mike’s wrist. “You surprised me last night.” He looked up, his eyes dark and intense. “I fully intended to make you safe word out of that scene. That was me testing your limits.”

Mike licked his lips. Harvey’s touch was doing funny things to his pulse. “You should have remembered,” he said shakily, “that tests are my specialty. And you didn’t even come close.”

Harvey’s mouth moved almost imperceptibly, but Mike knew that look of approval, that silent, implied _good boy,_ and it made him want to throw himself at Harvey’s feet, to kiss them and bathe them with his tongue. He stayed where he was, drowning in the dark gaze fixed upon him.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Harvey finally said. He lifted Mike’s hand and kissed the spot on his wrist that he’d been rubbing. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

 

******

 

“Okay, I have to ask. What exactly is that?”

Rachel took a dainty bite of her lunch. “It’s a fig and prosciutto tart with mint and sage.”

His eyes went wide. “The horror,” he whispered.

“Philistine.” She polished off the tart and went to work on a complicated looking salad that Mike didn’t dare examine in detail. The quick glance he’d given it earlier hinted at oysters and tiny (quail?) eggs and some obscure species of grain or pasta that too closely resembled grey mouse turds for his peace of mind.

Mike’s own meal – a deceptively normal appearing cheeseburger – had him worried enough. He lifted the bun again and prodded the meat with his finger. “I’m telling you, the texture is weird. And it doesn’t taste quite right.”

Rachel chewed and swallowed and took a sip of mineral water. “That’s because it’s ostrich.”

Mike busied himself gagging and spitting the bite he’d just taken into his napkin, so it was a moment before he realized that Rachel was convulsed with laughter.

“Gotcha,” she said, eyes bright with mischief.

“Okay. Not cool.”

Their eyes met, and Rachel sobered. She took several more bites of salad before laying down her fork. Mouth twisting, she gave Mike a concerned look. “You heard, right?”

Mike had figured this was the reason Rachel had asked him to lunch out of the blue, after doing everything she could to avoid him for nearly a month. “I heard.” Stephen had been taken into custody yesterday, and his arraignment was scheduled for this afternoon. Mike kept his face carefully neutral, but Rachel must have picked up on his ambivalence just the same.

“Are you okay?” she asked, fiddling with the base of her water goblet. The look on her face told him that she was wrestling with something else she wanted to ask. Finally, she blurted out, “Would you have gone with him?”

He gave her a confused frown. “To prison? No, because – ”

“Not prison, stupid.” She leaned closer. “To London. If he hadn’t been caught, would you have moved to London to be his associate?”

Mike suddenly lost what little appetite he still had. It was a question he hadn’t wanted to examine too closely. He knew, though, that the answer was yes, he probably would have. With the position he’d been in with Harvey at the time, he would have followed Stephen to London, and he would have become his sub instead of Harvey’s. After a month under Harvey’s training, he could see that life with Stephen would have been much different. His night with Stephen had been undeniably hot, but he remembered the feel on his tongue of calling him “sir,” how it had a hollow, forced ring to it. He’d felt any number of things with Stephen – dark, erotic, highly enjoyable things – but he’d never felt the absolute _need_ to submit to Stephen, like he did with Harvey.

Would he have been happy in London? That, he decided as he looked at Rachel’s expectant expression, was something he’d never know. What he did know was that right now, with Harvey, he was the happiest he’d ever been. Tonight they would sign a new contract, this time for six months. And then….It was likely that Harvey had something special in mind for him, but Mike wouldn’t know what it was until he sprang it on him. He shifted in his seat, feeling the delicious ache still there from two nights ago. He felt his face warming, and pushed aside the images which had suddenly entered his mind.

He focused back on Rachel, who still appeared to be waiting for an answer. “Nah,” he said, reaching for his beer. “It never would have worked out.” She looked skeptical, so he said, needing to change the subject, “You can probably relate, right?”

Rachel dropped her gaze. “God. Please don’t bring _her_ up. That was a mistake I’d just as soon not speak about ever again.” And then, contradicting what she had just said, she continued, “I can’t believe she went back to Darby. To hear her talk, he treated her like shit when she lost that case to Harvey.”

Mike had his own opinions about Dana Scott and her self-absorbed view of the world, but chose to keep them to himself, not seeing any point in rubbing salt into Rachel’s romantic wounds. “I’m sure you’ll find someone soon. In fact, I’ll keep any eye open for any likely prospects. Hey, if you ever want to go troll some bars….”

She laughed. “Oh no. I won’t have my ex-boyfriend picking out a new lover for me. Because that would just be too pathetic.”

He smiled at her, a genuine, happy smile. “I’m glad you asked me to lunch. I’ve missed hanging out with you. And sharing your weird, you know, gustatory exploits.”

She choked on her mouse turd salad. “Gustatory? Oh wow, Mike Ross knows big words.”

He laughed with her, feeling as if the world had finally been set right again.

 

******

 

Mike leaned over his desk, combing the corporate merger documents in front of him for errors. Every so often, he squirmed in his chair, trying to keep his movements inconspicuous. Rubbing himself against the chair seat served to amplify the lingering ache and burn in his ass. Over the past few weeks, he and Harvey had learned together that Mike’s pain tolerance _was_ exceptionally high, and Harvey had pushed him close to his limits, finally forcing him to use his safe word. When he’d broken down and wept in shame, begging Harvey to forgive him, his Dom and held him close and repeated over and over how proud he was of Mike.

Mike wriggled in his chair once more, and his dick began to express its approval. Thinking that no one else was around, he used his highlighter to discreetly stimulate himself through his trousers.

“Well, this explains why you haven’t completed your assignment yet,” said Harvey, appearing suddenly at Mike’s workstation.

Mike gave a yelp of surprise, straightening up. The highlighter slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. “How in the hell do you keep doing that?”

Harvey was frowning at him, but Mike could clearly see the amusement in his eyes. “Maybe if you allowed at least some of your blood to stay in your brain….”

Not that long ago, Mike would have blushed at Harvey’s scolding, but now he just grinned helplessly. “You’re very distracting,” he said, “even in retrospect.”

“Well, stop retrospecting Little Mike for a second – ”

“Who you calling little?”

“Mike.” He knew that tone of voice. The time for joking had ended.

“Sorry.” He glanced around them at the other cubicles, verifying that they were indeed alone. “Sorry, sir.” He waited for Harvey to tell him whatever it was he had walked down to Mike’s floor to say. Harvey’s expression at the moment was too complex to decipher, so Mike dropped his gaze to the floor, fighting off the by now instinctive need to kneel at Harvey’s feet. He heard Harvey sigh.

“Stephen’s arraignment was today.” Which he knew that Mike knew. “He was denied bail.”

Mike couldn’t think of what to say. He’d known it was a possibility, and he’d come to terms with the fact that Stephen deserved whatever he got. What he’d done, ordering murders in the name of profits, was despicable. Still, he couldn’t help but feel compassion for the man, which in turn felt like a betrayal of what he had with Harvey. His mind was working a thousand miles a minute, remembering, and regretting, and reproaching himself for the regret. He’d almost forgotten that Harvey was standing next to him when he felt his hand on the back of his neck.

“Calm down, baby,” Harvey murmured.

“Maybe I should go visit him. I don’t know if I ever told him that I’m sorry. I can’t remember.”

“Mike. Look at me.”

He looked up into Harvey’s calm, sure gaze, and the anxiety building inside of him began to ease. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should remember that you didn’t cause any of this. He made his choices, and you did your job. If you want to visit him in jail, I won’t stop you, but you have to know that it won’t change anything.”

Mike nodded slowly. “Sure. Okay. Temporary insanity. He wouldn’t want to see me anyway. And even if he did, I wouldn’t want to torture him with….” He waved a hand up and down his body. “With all of this.”

Harvey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can see you’re going to be fine.”

Mike wished they were at home, where he could show Harvey how grateful he was. He bent his head. “I don’t know if I would have been. Without you, I mean.”

For a moment, Mike thought Harvey was going to bend down and kiss him, right there in his cubicle. Instead, he gave the back of Mike’s neck a squeeze before letting him go and stepping back. “Try to stop playing with yourself long enough to finish your work. I’ve got plans for you tonight.”

“Do those plan involve nipple clamps and a flogger?”

Harvey had already turned away and was striding down the hall. “Not anymore,” he shot over his shoulder.

Mike slumped in his chair, wishing that he would learn when to keep his damn mouth shut. He couldn’t help smiling at the thought that maybe tonight would be the night Harvey taught him that lesson.

He bent down to pick up his highlighter and went back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the encouraging comments. I hope you enjoyed this final chapter. Thank you for reading!


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